The Last Loud House on the Left 2
by Flagg1991
Summary: Lori, Lynn, and Lola break down in the middle of nowhere and are abducted by three psychopaths on a cross-country killing spree. Collaboration with Raganoxer. Cover by Raganoxer.
1. Abduction

**I need to explain this one. Basically, Raganoxer, who's an edgelord (but a good artist) loved** _ **The Last Loud House on the Left**_ **and suggested I do a sequel. "Can't do that, Rag," I said with strained patience, "the bad guys are dead." "Oh. Well...make me, you, and AberrantScript the bad guys." After I was done laughing at him, I started to think of what story I would do if I** _ **did**_ **write a sequel. That's how I operate as a writer: Story comes to me before characters. I came up with something, liked it, and decided, what the hell, I'll make us the bad guys, so Rag and I wrote this. I hesitate to call it a self-insert because I did not write our characters to reflect who we actually are. AberrantScript, a female in this, is presented as jealous and sadistic when, in actuality, he's the nicest guy ever. My character is a sociopathic pedophile and was written as a replacement for John Krog from the first story. Trust me, I'm no angel, but this "Flagg1991" is a piece of fucking shit. You'll want him to die as badly as I did. I hated him so much I didn't even want my name attached to his ass. I swear, guys, I'm not like him at all...except for the charming and devilishly handsome part ;)**

 **Anyway, this isn't a true sequel - it takes place in its own continuity and is more inspired by** _ **The Last House on the Left**_ **than the first. The killers theme song, which plays randomly in this chapter, is an homage to the killers' theme from that movie. I'll post the video on my Facebook if you wanna hear it; it's really goofy given the tone of the movie, which is what makes it funny.**

 **This story is one part serious take on the rape and revenge genre of film from the 1970s and one part self-aware parody: A couple guys having fun and writing. Don't take it** _ **too**_ **seriously. Please?**

 **Lyrics to** _ **TNT**_ **by AC/DC (1975)**

* * *

Lori Loud shoved her bag into the back of the silver Dodge minivan and slammed the hatch. "That's everything, right?" she asked, and realized she should have said something before closing the door.

"Yep," Lynn said, "that's all of it."

They were standing in the driveway of the one story ranch house on Wilson Drive where they'd been lived for the past three years, thin, amber morning light creeping over the roof and filtering through the trees. The neighborhood was still and silent save for an automatic sprinkler across the street and the passage of the paperboy on his ten speed; his name was Joey and he was in the eighth grade. Lori talked to him a few times when their paths happened to cross - he always seemed to show up just as she was leaving for work, and from the way he stammered and blushed in her presence, she surmised that he had a crush on her.

Glancing down at the gold watch on her wrist, Lori nodded curtly. If they didn't hit traffic, they could be there before noon. "Alright," she said, then looked around. "Where's Lola?"

"Inside still," Lynn said.

Lori sighed. Of course she was. Lola was eleven, and there is nothing on earth more difficult or temperamental than an eleven-year-old girl...except maybe a fifteen-year-old girl. Lynn wasn't bad when she was that age, but she imagined Lola would be even worse than she was now, and she was dreading it. She loved her little sister to pieces, but sometimes she made her want to pull her own hair out and dart blindly into traffic, and there were days when she had to go into another room and calm down before she popped off on the little girl. "Want me to go get her?" Lynn asked.

"No, I'll do it," Lori said.

Inside, she found Lola sitting on the couch, her arms crossed and a sullen expression on her face; the atmosphere was dark and tense, as though a storm were brewing...which, Lori figured, it was. When she first brought up the idea of a weekend camping trip, she expected pushback from her youngest living sister but hoped she'd eventually come around.

She didn't.

 _Spending two days in the woods in the heat and being eaten alive by bugs is_ not _my idea of a good time,_ she said in that overbearing tone of hers; when she used it, Lori wanted to smack her, but never did, and never would. Lola, like Lynn, needed her to be patient, and though she dropped into bed some nights shaking with nerves, she always gave it to them.

Taking a deep breath, she went over and squatted in front of Lola, one hand going to the little girl's knee - she wore a sleeveless pink dress with white horizontal stripes, white tennis shoes, and pink socks. Not optimal attire for camping, Lori noted. Probably because she didn't plan to go. "Hey," Lori said softly, "are you ready?"

Lola glared at her lap as she replied. "No."

"Why not?" Lori asked, a pleading edge in her voice. She hated arguing with one of her sisters, hated it so much that sometimes being a mother to them - or as close to a mother as she could be - came difficult; her first instinct was almost always to let them have their way and avoid a confrontation. That's not what a parent does, and she reminded herself of this fact often. "It'll be fun. Trust me. There's a lake, trails, we can build a campfire and makes s'mores."

"I don't want any of that stuff," Lola retorted, "I wanna stay here."

Lori hung her head. "Lola, you can't stay by yourself."

The first time Lola brought the possibility of staying home, Lori's heart blasted against her ribs. Call her overprotective, but in an instant a million terrible scenarios flashed through her mind - a fire, carbon monoxide, Lola falling down and hurting herself, someone breaking in...no, eleven was _far_ too young. She wouldn't even be entirely comfortable with it if she were older.

"I'm eleven, I should be allowed to," she said.

"No," Lori said firmly, "you're not staying by yourself and that's final. Get your things and come out to the van."

Lola looked up at her with narrowed eyes, her pink lips pursed tightly. Lori thought she was going to give her more grief, but instead she got to her feet, brushed past, and went into her room. Lori waited for the door to slam, but it didn't.

Standing to her full height, Lori put her hands on her hips and shook her head slowly. Five years ago, her family, save for Lynn and Lola, was killed when a drunk driver barreled into their lane one rain swept night and hit the van head-on. Lori was barely eighteen, an airhead girl whose world revolved around cute shoes, gossip, and her boyfriend; after the accident, she had to grow up quick because her sisters needed her, and there was never a moment she imagined doing anything else but taking custody of them. It was a challenge, both then _and_ now, but she never regretted it, and over time, she came to love them more deeply and fully - they were all she had in the world, and they meant everything to her.

Even if sometimes she wanted to give dropkick Lola into next Tuesday.

Outside, Lynn leaned against the van and stared down at her phone, her lips scrunched thoughtfully to the side. "What's _that_ look for?" Lori asked.

"I think a boy just asked me out," she said.

"You _think?_ " Lori asked and lifted her brow. "That's not the kind of thing you _think_ about. Either he did or he didn't." She held out her hand, and Lynn looked at her funny. "Let me see."

An embarrassed blush touched Lynn's cheeks and she jammed the phone into her pocket. "Uh, no, nevermind, he didn't."

Lori laughed. Lynn, despite being pretty and outgoing, had never dated; as far as Lori knew, there weren't even any boys she was seriously interested in, or who were interested in her. That always puzzled Lori, and though Lynn vehemently denied it the one time Lori asked, she suspected it had something to do with the accident, or rather, lingering feelings caused by it. In the five years since, she, Lynn, and Lola had become especially close, and Lori wondered if Lynn wasn't hesitant to bring someone else into her life. Lori certainly was; she hadn't been on a date since her last one with Bobby Santiago. Such a sweet guy...until she told him she was going to raise her sisters. He didn't like that...so to the curb he went.

She'd be a liar if she said she didn't miss him sometimes, but family comes first.

Presently, the front door opened and closed, and Lola came down the walkway with a bag in one hand and a pink, heart-shaped pillow in the other, her brows knitted in an angry V. She stalked past Lori and Lynn without so much as a word, slid the side door open, and climbed in. "She looks thrilled," Lynn said sarcastically.

"She is," Lori said.

Most of Lola's attitude was hormones - she was becoming a woman, and Lori knew first hand that the transition between childhood and adulthood was a rough one - but she couldn't help taking it personal. She tried so hard for them and more often than not, she felt like a failure. She worked three jobs, but they never had much money; she was shit at giving advice; and no matter what she did, she had the deep, foreboding feeling that she was _wrong_.

Like this camping trip.

Maybe it _was_ a bad idea and they should just stay home - Lola could go hang out with her friends at the mall, Lynn could go on a date with her guy friend, and she could sit home and enjoy her weekend off.

Maybe.

And maybe she was just too sensitive.

Sighing, she went to the driver side door, slipped in behind the wheel, and snapped her seatbelt on as Lynn did the same in the passenger seat. In the back, Lola wedged her pillow between her head and the window, and snuggled into a comfortable position, whereupon she crossed her arms and closed her eyes. Lori stared at her in the rearview mirror for a moment, and was surprised - and disturbed - by the aching _loss_ in her chest. When Lola was younger, and still had nightmares about the accident, she would sometimes crawl into bed with Lori in the middle of the night, and Lori would cuddle her til morning. That didn't happen anymore - she would barely let her hug her these days - and in that instant, Lori missed it so much it made her sick.

Turning the key in the ignition, she shoved those thoughts away, backed the van into the street and swung right. A man walked a big white dog down the sidewalk and a Royal Woods Power Company truck ambled past, its driver looking left and right as though he were lost. "Alright, guys," Lori said, "thus starts our big adventure."

Lola made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. "I'm really looking forward to this," Lynn said with a grin, "I'm gonna show you guys how to spear fish."

At the end of the street, Lori turned right - trees overhung the sidewalk and wavered in the summer breeze. "Spear fish?"

"Umhm," Lynn said, "that's where you sharpen a stick then throw it at the fish instead of using a pole. It's pretty badass."

Lori's nose crinkled. "Oh, God, Lynn. Seriously?"

"What?" Lynn asked defensively.

They were on the main drag now, approaching the interstate. "That's inhumane."

Lynn stared at her for a moment, then laughed. "Lori, you gotta kill the fish to eat them anyway. Duh."

"I know, but still." The idea of chucking a spear at a fish and seeing its eyes widen in agony when the point pierced its body disturbed her greatly. She imagined the look on its face - shock, drawing horror - would be identical to the expression on her father's face as the Jeep crossed into their lane, all headlights and hurtling metal and…

She shivered violently, then stole a quick glance at Lynn to see if she noticed. She didn't - she was looking out the window. The image stayed with her for the next ten miles, and nothing she did could shake it. Finally, she turned on the radio to drown out the memories: Katy Perry belted her way through Firework and Lori winced. Once upon a time, that was Leni's favorite song.

Damn it, Lori, don't do this. Not now. This is supposed to be a relaxing vacation with your sisters, not a PTSD parade.

Reaching out, she changed the station, settling for one playing a newscast. "...Washington today for a summit with President Trump," a dry, generic voice said. "In other news, the FBI has entered the search for three suspects accused of committing a string of violent murders across the Midwest. FBI spokesman Joe Mason says that over 1000 agents have been added to the manhunt for Flagg Ninetyone, Rag Anoxer, and Abby Script. Flagg is described as tall, muscular, and handsome with sandy brown hair; Rag as short with messy black hair, his head always donned with a long black hat; and Abby, Flagg's common law wife, as having short blonde hair and freckles. They are considered armed and extremely dangerous."

A commercial for an auto shop came on, and Lori changed lanes, falling in behind a Toyota with Canadian plates. She was tense now, and her stomach sour. If this kept up, she'd be in danger of having a full-blown panic attack.

And that goddamn Jeep in the rearview mirror wasn't helping. It was red where the one that killed her family was black, but seeing it...knowing it was there...like a bad omen…

She forced her eyes back to the road.

She wasn't going to have a panic attack.

She was going to have fun…

That's what she told herself for the next two hours, her mantra never changing even as the world around her did, the sprawling suburbs of lower Michigan turning to open farmland, then to dense forest the closer they got to the Upper Peninsula. She kept her breathing tightly regulated, and began to calm, her concentration on the endless chant and on the open road ahead.

They stopped twice, the first time at a Burger King drive-thru in Richfield Township for breakfast, then in St. Ignace for fuel. The first settlement along I-75 after crossing the strait separating lower and upper Michigan, St Ignace reminded Lori of picturesque towns she'd seen on the back of postcards, its narrow, tree lined streets presided over by quaint brick storefronts and its skyline defined by water towers and church steeples. As she pumped the gas, Lynn sat in the passenger seat with the door open, her legs dangling over the side and her eyes glued to her phone, thumbs flying across the keyboard. "You saying yes?" Lori asked and playfully batted her lashes.

The younger girl shook her head.

"Why?" Lori asked. "You really should."

"Eh," Lynn said.

"Eh?"

Lynn shrugged. "I just...I don't know if I'm ready for all that, you know?" She looked up and Lori saw something like fear in her eyes.

She considered her response very, very carefully - this was one of those things she could bomb on like _that_. She wanted Lynn to date, but she didn't want to push her if she genuinely wasn't ready. "He's not asking you marry him," Lori said at length, "right?"

Again, Lynn shook her head. "He wants to see a movie."

"Then see a movie with the guy."

Lynn opened her mouth to reply, hesitated, then lifted one shoulder.

"Is something wrong with him?" Lori pressed.

"No, he's fine, I'm just not ready for a relationship, especially now with me going off to college in the fall."

Lori took the nozzle out of the slot and returned it to its cradle. "I can see that," she said, "but still, it's only a date."

"I'll think about it," Lynn said.

"That's all I ask," Lori said and flashed her sister a smile.

Fifteen minutes later, they were back underway, stately pines looming over the highway and wavering in the warm August breeze. North of Castle Rock, the interstate angled west and disappeared into thick forest that rolled on forever. At Lava Falls, Lori took the off ramp and followed US20 northeast. The campground was another thirty miles off, the only thing between her and there woods, lakes, streams, and open two lane blacktop.

Ten miles on, and five miles from nowhere, the engine started knocking, bringing Lori from her reprieve. "Uh-oh," Lynn said, "that doesn't sound good."

Moments later, the wheel shook in Lori's hands, and thick black smoke belched out from under the hood. Oh, no.

"Smells like the carburetor," Lola muttered from the back, her head still propped against the pillow and her eyes closed. One of the ways she coped with losing Lana was by taking an interest in the things her twin enjoyed in life, like auto maintenance. _It helps me feel closer to her,_ she admitted to Lori once. She wasn't very good and eventually moved on, but she knew a little - more than Lori did.

Great.

Rolling her eyes, she pulled to the gravel shoulder and killed the engine. She pulled the hood release, then got out into the dry summer heat with Lynn and went around to the front. She lifted the hood, and a wall of smoke rushed out, choking her. She coughed and waved her hand in front of her face; Lynn crinkled her nose; and Lola, who had gotten out too, sniffed the air. "Yep. The carburetor's shot. We're pretty much screwed." She sighed, cocked her hip, and crossed her arms. "Guess we'll have to camp here." There was a mocking inflection in her voice that grated on Lori's already fraying nerves.

Damn it. They were literally in bum fuck Egypt, a thousand and one miles from home...and the van broke down. Perfect. Just perfect. So much for having fun.

Luckily, they had AAA, so it wasn't the end of the world.

She took her phone out of her pocket, held it up...and her heart dropped.

"No service," she said aloud, and laughed humorlessly. Lynn and Lola looked at each other, then both took out their own phones as though by some magic, theirs would have bars.

They didn't.

Lori turned, leaned against the front end of the van, and slipped her fingers into her hair. A tension headache was beginning to form above her left eye.

"I hope someone comes along," she said with a sigh.

* * *

A battered white convertible sailed down a two lane highway like a ship at sea, its top down and its tires humming smoothly over the pavement. A man with wild black hair and fevered eyes sat behind the wheel, one hand at 12 and the opposite arm bent on the door; he wore a baseball cap with an extra long bill and spiked shoulder pads. Next to him, a man with a fifties style hairdo, his eyes hidden behind a pair of Aviator sunglasses, occupied the passenger seat, a cigarette jutting from his lips. A woman dressed in a tight white T-shirt and jeans sat in his lap, the wind rushing through her short blonde hair. There was a fourth passenger in the trunk, a woman kidnapped from a shopping center in Detroit three days ago. She was curled on her side, bound, gagged - and dead.

Kazoo driven music played over the scene.

 _Flagg and Abby_

 _With Rag too_

 _You better watch out_

 _For this murderous crew_

 _There's no stoppin'_

 _Them on the prowl_

 _Duck your head_

 _Cuz here they come now_

 _Got knives in their hands_

 _And death in their hearts_

 _You better cover up_

 _Your lady parts_

 _They're one righteous band_

 _And they're always on hand_

 _So give them a call_

 _And they'll throw you a baaa-aaa-aaall!_

Flagg reached behind the driver seat, opened a cooler, and slipped out a can of beer. He tapped it against Rag's shoulder pad; Rag took it with a silent nod, hand leaving the wheel for a second. Flagg grabbed another and cracked it open, taking a deep drink, white foam spilling down the sides of his mouth. Abby turned to watch him...then frowned. "Gimme some," she whined. Flagg pressed the can into her hand and took a drag of his cigarette, the smoke dispersing on the hot air.

They were six miles from the center of desolation and so lost they didn't know which end was up, but they didn't mind - that's why they came to Michigan's rural, forested Upper Peninsula: To hide.

They'd been tearing across the country since early June, starting in San Francisco and working their way east. In Lake Tahoe, they robbed a bank, Rag herding tells hostages into the safe and shooting each one in the back of the head execution-style because _the walls look like they needed a fresh coat of paint._ In Salt Lake City, they kidnapped a lone schoolgirl and dragged her in the car and kept with with them for twenty-five miles before dumping her lifeless body in a revine. Her fingers and teeth were nipped off haphazardly and semen was found in a makeshift hole in her stomach...among other places.

Making their way to Kansas, they ditched their previous car to mislead authorities and hitchhiked through a sparse forest.

Upon reaching the other side, they flagged down an unsuspecting teenage couple in a white convertible. Ten miles later, Flagg leaned forward and headlocked the driver as Rag took the wheel. They pulled to the side of the road and dragged the girl kicking and screaming into a field while Abby held the boy at gunpoint.

After raping the girl, Rag, shaking in the throes of his bloodlust, strangled her to death, slamming her head violently against the ground. Flagg stabbed the boy in the throat just once, allowing blood to paint the once white back seats in a sick coat of crimson. After the deed was done, they dumped the bodies in the middle of the road and headed off. Something was spelled in the road in the boys blood but officers couldn't make it out.

The next night, they broke into a farmhouse and rounded up the family inside: Two parents, three boys, and four girls. Flagg shot the sons and made the father watch as he and Rag raped the women.

 _Look at me, pop,_ Flagg said as he rutted into one of the weeping girls - she lie prone on the floor, her face buried in the carpet and her night dress hiked up around her hips. Flagg stared at the old man, who sat tied to a kitchen chair, his eyes filled with hatred and one of his daughters' underwear shoved into his mouth. Flagg laughed and slapped the girl's bare butt as hard as he could, the meaty thwack resounding through the house. I' _m fucking your little girl. What'cha gonna do?_

Rag knelt next to another one of the girls, a straight razor pressed to her throat and a wicked grin on his face. He held her by her long black hair and kissed the side of her neck, reveling in her tears and soft pleas for mercy like a pig in mud. _Watch this, Dad,_ he said and jerked his wrist; the blade flashed across the girl's jugular and let loose a gushing torrent of blood that splattered the front of her night dress and Rag's face. He laughed madly as she gurgled and wept; her father squeezed his eyes closed and turned away.

Abby watched from the doorway to the kitchen, eating a sandwich and staring daggers at the little blonde girl Flagg currntly knelt behind: Her face was red and wet with tears, and when she tried to speak, her words came out in a strangled sob. She was eleven, maybe twelve, and Flagg liked them young...liked them more than her, Abby thought.

Grinning, Flagg smashed her face into the coffee table, reached under her dress, and yanked her panties down. _No!_ She cried in alarm. _Please, don't! Please, God!_ Flagg ran his hands over her back, his pink, lizard like tongue swiping obscenely across his bottom lip. Abby sneered.

 _Shhh, princess,_ Flagg said, _I'll make it good for you._

Flagg never called _her_ princess, Abby thought.

Snapping, she threw her sandwich down and stalked over. Flagg looked up at her just as she pulled the .38 from the small of her back, jammed it against the girl's head, and pulled the trigger.

BLAM!

Her little body jumped.

Abby flashed Flagg a mocking, tight-lipped smile, wheeled around, and went into the kitchen. Flagg watched her go, not knowing whether to be mad at her for breaking his toy before he could or satisfied that she was jealous.

Later, after butchering the remaining daughters, Flagg went out to the barn and searched for something to finish off the father with. He found it in the form of a Husqvarna 440 chainsaw. Inside, he grinned at Rag, who sat at the kitchen table with a slice of pie and a glass of milk. _Wanna play Leatherface with Farmer John?_

Rag snickered darkly. _Let's._

Dad sat in the middle of the living room, his head hung and the floor around him heaped with his dead loved ones. Abby sat in his lap, running her fingers through his hair and planting faux-tender kisses on his forehead, one eye on Flagg as she did it.

He ignored her.

 _Alright, daddy-o,_ he said, and the man looked up. _It's your turn to die._ He lifted the chainsaw, yanked the cord, and smiled devilishly when the motor coughed to life. Abby got up and stood next to Flagg with a smirk on her face; Dad squeezed his eyes closed as Flagg lifted the saw over his head, then brought it down, the chain tearing through his scalp and splattering the three deviants with blood like holy water from a baptismal specter. Dad let out a blood curdling howl against his gag and thrashed, a chunk from the top of his head falling to the floor and exposing his pulsating brain. Dad twitched and jerked spasmodically, his eyelids fluttering and his ruined head turning back and forth.

Flagg cut the saw and tossed it aside, then considered his work, his hand going thoughtfully to his chin and his brow arching critically. _Not bad,_ he said. Rag pulled a handful of brains from the now limp man's skull, looked at it...then flung it at Flagg with a dry, hitching chuckle. It hit the front of Flagg's suit with a wet plop and dropped onto the floor. Flagg looked at the blood smeared across his clothes, then up at Rag.

 _Got'cha,_ Rag said.

 _You son of a bitch,_ Flagg said. He reached into the man's head and grabbed his own handful. Rag snickered and started to run away; Flagg threw the brains and it hit Rag between the shoulder blades. He stumbled exaggeratedly forward and threw his arms out.

 _Ahh! you got me._

 _Damn right I did._

They stayed the night, sleeping in shifts. Abby was first; she sat on the couch and absently watched a show about two overly religious parents and their eleven messed up kids. Rag took the second shift, exploring the rooms of the recently deceased home occupants. He drew moustaches on family photos and carved his name on the furniture and walls. He found an ant farm in one of the boys rooms, opened the top, and released his bladder for a mighty thunder piss. _My pee-pee needs to wee-wee!_ proclaimed Rag. Flagg took the final shift, chain smoking and staring the little girl's body with bitter regret. Fucking jealous ass Abby.

They left just past six the next morning after debating burning the house; Flagg wanted to leave the carnage for the police to find. _A little something to remember us by,_ he said around the filter of his cigarette.

Presently, Flagg leaned forward, turned up the radio, and sat back with a sigh. He turned to Rag, who was driving back slouched and eyes violent. "Where's this campground ground you were talking about?" he asked and took the can from Abby, who was sitting on his lap without a seatbelt, how reckless!

"Fuck if I know," Rag said and snickered, "we are L-O-S-T, lost."

Flagg hummed dismissively. They were relying on an older map Rag picked up. They chose not to carry any phone in fear of being tracked. Abby was reading the map and dictating directions. There was a campground somewhere, and they were vaguely planning to rent a spot and pass a few days roasting marshmallows, telling spooky stories around the campfire, and swimming in the lake. Flagg hoped there were lots of sexy little girls, and Rag wished for a couple sexy little boys (and girls too!).

The current song on the radio ended and a newsbreak came on. "This just in breaking news. Law enforcement officials are continuing their search for three thrill killers who, they say, are responsible for upwards of thirty murders across the country."

"That's us!" Abby cried happily, and bounced in Flagg's lap like a giddy schoolgirl. Rag cracked a proud smirk, and Flagg took a dispassionate drag of his cigarette.

"...armed and extremely dangerous. Anyone with information is asked to contact the FBI."

Rag chuckled. "They got the feds after us, Flagg; they mean big business."

"A thousand homos in windbreakers," Flagg said, "I'm shaking."

Abby plucked the can from his hand and took a drink. "You're also getting hard," she said and half-lidded her eyes.

It was true, Flagg was sporting a full chub thinking about all those little girls splashing around in that lake, their wet, sun-kissed bodies barely clad. Flagg was a staunch supporter of third wave feminism: We can wear as little as we want and you just have to deal with it. Right on, honey, right on.

The newscast went off, and music replaced it, ominous guitar and low, brutal chanting. _Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!_

Rag turned the volume all the way up and tapped to the tempo on the wheel. When the lyrics started, Rag bobbed his head back and forth and joined in; sounded like a cat being murdered.

" _See me ride out of the sunset_

 _On your color TV screen_

 _Out for all that I can get_

 _If you know what I mean"_

Abby slammed the rest of the beer and tossed the can over her shoulder; the wind took it and knocked it to the pavement. "I like this song," she said. Flagg knew - AC/DC turned her on, and they often fucked to it, wild, animalistic sex with no passion. She started to sing too, and Flagg rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses.

" _Women to the left of me_

 _And women to the right_

 _Ain't got no gun_

 _Ain't got no knife_

 _Don't you start no fight"_

Flagg flicked his cigarette out and blew a plume of smoke. Abby slipped one arm around his shoulder and kissed his forehead. "Come on, babe. Sing."

"No," Flagg said. "I don't sing."

"Oh, come on, it's fun," Rag said.

"So's your mother," Flagg spat.

Rag rolled his eyes. "Hur hur, good one, Fagg."

Flashing, Flagg punched him in the arm, and he released a girly cry; the car swerved into the other lane and nearly went off the road. Wide eyed and pale faced with terror, Rag spun the wheel and corrected; Abby swayed and nearly fell off of Flagg's lap (and from the car entirely), but Flagg snaked his arm around her hip and held her up.

She glared at Rag. "You almost killed me, jackass."

"It was him!" Rag cried and pointed to Flagg.

"You're worse than a goddamn Asian behind the wheel," Flagg growled.

Rag sighed loudly. "Whatever."

Ahead, the road went around a bend then over a rocky creek bed. They hadn't seen another car for fifteen miles and Flagg was beginning to think they wouldn't see one ever again, but, as luck would have it, they did - in the distance, a silver minivan sat on the shoulder, a blonde girl leaning against the front end and smoke pouring out of the engine block. Flagg flipped his sunglasses up and craned to see around Abby, his breath catching when he saw the little blonde in the pink dress, a queenly tiara perched on top of her head. She was eleven, maybe twelve, and her body would be just beginning to blossom.

"Now you're really hard," Abby giggled.

Rag spotted them and leaned over the wheel. "Hey, check it out," he said.

Abby squinted, saw the little blonde, and tensed.

She knew why Flagg was so hard now.

The older blonde looked up, and relief washed across her face. A third girl, her thick brown hair in a ponytail, came around the front end and waved to them.

"Keep driving," Abby said tightly.

"Stop," Flagg said back

Rag looked between the two, as if he didn't know who was in charge.

Abby's eyes narrowed. "Keep. Driving."

Flagg sneered. "Pull up."

Abby spat louder. "Don't stop and keep go-"

Flagg snatched her by the hair and dragged her head back - she let out a sharp yelp. "We're stopping, bitch, and if you don't like it, you can get the hell out and walk."

"Let go!" she moaned.

Flagg pulled harder, and tears sprang to her eyes. "Ow, Flaggy, please!"

"Tell him to stop," Flagg snarled, his dick getting even harder.

Abby sneered defiantly, and Flagg yanked her hair again.

"Oh, stop, Rag!"

Flagg grinned. "Ask him to stop."

Rag looked from Flagg to the road, then back to Abby. his heart slamming and his peepee twitching from the violence. Abby swallowed hard. "P-Please stop, R-Rag."

A dark grin crossed Flagg's lips, and he looked at Rag. "You heard the woman," he said.

"If she insists," Rag smirked.

* * *

Lori was just starting to think they were going to have to walk when she heard the swelling sound of an oncoming car. Lynn, sitting in the passenger seat with her feet on the ground, perked up, and Lola sighed. "Finally," she said.

They'd been stranded for close to half an hour by this point, and not a single car had passed - save for a pick-up truck whose bed was stacked with cages and cages of chickens. The old black woman behind the wheel said she'd come back for them, "In an hour or so, chil', I gots things I gots to do." Lotta help that was.

A white convertible appeared ahead, and Lori looked up at it, her eyes squinting; the August sun glared on the windshield, and she couldn't see who was inside.

Lynn came over and waved. "Wonder if they have room," Lynn grumbled. She'd been studying the map since the breakdown just for something to do, and she figured that the closest town was Edgeville fifteen miles back - and that was three houses, a church, and a general store. As long as there was at least one phone, Lori would be happy.

The car pulled to the opposite shoulder, its tires kicking up dust, and came to a halting stop. A man in a long baseball cap sat behind the wheel, and as Lori started over, he looked at her, his eyes bloodshot, beady and black like a weasel's. Her step faltered and her heartbeat sped inexplicably up - for the first time she was aware that she and her sisters were alone, three women, three beautiful girls, and that sometimes, bad things happen to girls.

When she saw the woman in the passenger seat, her arms crossed, she relaxed a little. She crossed the road, Lynn at her right elbow and Lola at her left, and came up to the car. The driver looked up at her with a smile, and the woman looked away. There was another passenger, a man in sunglasses smoking a cigarette. They all looked rough, and an anxious ripple went through Lori's stomach.

"Car trouble?" the man behind the wheel asked.

"Our carburetors shot," Lola said.

The driver giggled, and Lori thought she detected a mocking note. "Is that so?" He looked up at Lori, his eyes full of something... was that lust? His grip on the wheel was harder than it needed to be and his smile, so obviously faked, was crooked. A shiver went down her spine and she began to feel cold.

They were not taking a ride from these people, she decided.

"Do you have a phone?" Lori asked before Lynn or Lola could speak. The man flicked his eyes up and down her body, slowly, and she could feel the slime of his gaze.

He shrugged one shoulder. "We do, but it ain't got no service." He nodded toward the back. "Hop in, we'll give you a ride."

Lynn started to speak, but Lori cut her off. "No, that's fine." The man's brow knitted, and she fumbled for a convincing lie. "We don't wanna leave the van."

"Then you come with us and your friends stay here," the man in the passenger seat said around the filter of his cigarette. "Problem solved."

"No, I'd rather not leave them," Lori said. "Thanks anyway."

She started to turn, but the driver clicked his tongue and breathed in through his teeth. He reached in between his crotch and whipped out a CZ-75 pistol and aimed it at her head, his thumb cocking the hammer back with a cold, metallic click - her heart dropped into her stomach. Next to her, Lynn stiffened and Lola gasped.

"Get in the car," he said.


	2. No One Can Hear You Scream

**Lyrics to** _ **Get it Hot**_ **(** _ **Highway to Hell**_ **version) by AC/DC (1979)**

Lori sat in the back of the convertable between Lynn and Rag, her eyes straight ahead and her trembling lips pressed tightly together. Her hands were tied behind her back and panic clawed at her chest; warm wind rushed over her face and through her hair, plastering her sweaty bangs to her forehead. Abby drove, her face set in a dark scowl, and Flagg sat in the passenger seat with Lola on his lap, one arm circled around her hips and her hair dancing in the breeze. Her hands were bound in the small of her back and her eyes squeezed closed, tears streaking down her face. Flagg closed his hand on her knee and brushed it slowly up, her dress coming with it, his breathing heavy. Abby stole a contemptuous glance at them, then turned back to the road, her scowl deepening.

Music blared from the speakers, overwhelming Lori's senses. She couldn't think, couldn't reason, could only fight to keep herself from breaking down.

 _Going out on the town_

 _Just a me and you_

 _Gonna have ourselves a party_

 _Just like we used to do_

When the cold blade of a knife pressed against her cheek, Lori cringed. "You're a pretty girl," Rag said huskily, "anyone ever tell you that?" He scraped the steel across her flesh, and she winced at the sting; warm wetness oozed out.

 _Nobody's playing Manilow_

 _Nobody's playing soul_

 _And no one's playing hard to get_

 _Just a good old rock 'n' roll_

Flagg cracked a beer and took a deep drink, then laughed merrily when Lola started to sob. Lori couldn't see what he was doing to her, but terror filled her nonetheless. "Leave her alone," she said, "please."

Rag giggled and held the knife in front of her face, tapped it against the tip of her nose. "You better do what she says, Flagg."

Flagg dipped his hand between Lola's legs, his fingers tracing the outline of her sex through her panties. "Fuck her," Flagg panted. The little girl moaned miserably and snapped her thighs closed, trapping his hand. He responded by hooking his fingers into her like talons. "Open your legs, bitch," he snarled.

Sniffing, the little girl did as she was told.

 _Get it hot, get it hot_

 _Come on baby, get it hot_

 _Get it hot, get it hot_

 _Alright_

Rag snaked his arm around Lori's shoulders and drew her close, the tip of the knife caressing her nose, her lips, her chin. She swallowed thickly and found her voice, shaky as it may have been. "P-Please let my s-sisters go. Keep me but d-don't hurt them."

In the passenger seat, Flagg ticked his head back and forth in thought. "Eh...no, I think we'll keep all of you." He pulled Lola flush against him and kissed the side of her throat, his middle finger pushing into her folds. She cried harder.

 _Moving down the motorway_

 _Got a whole lot of booze_

 _Got myself a sweet little number_

 _Who's got nothing to lose_

"We're gonna have ourselves a party, honey," Rag said into her ear, his breath hot and rank against her skin and making her shiver. "You don't want your sisters to miss out on the fun, do you?" He slid the blade down to her soft throat, and her heart raced. This was it. She was going to die and these monsters were going to kill Lynn and Lola.

That thought pushed her over the edge, and she started to sob, her head hanging and her shoulders shaking. Rag laughed. "Uh-oh, here comes the wah-bulance! Wah-Wah!"

Lori wept harder at the sound of Lola's crying. She was totally powerless to protect her sisters the way she vowed to five years ago.

"Sounds like a crier truck, too," Flagg said. He wrapped his lips around Lola's crazily pounding pulse and slipped his fingers into her panties. "They're sending all units."

Rag threw back his head and shrieked laughter. "Calling all cars, we got a 10-15 in progress, over!"

Next to Lori, Lynn glared at him, her arms barely moving as she flexed and strained her wrists against the rope. It was tight, but she'd been worrying it the last fifteen minutes, and though it may have been her imagination, it felt looser than before.

 _Goin' bend you like a G string_

 _Conduct you like a choir_

 _So get your body in the right place_

 _We'll set the world on fire_

Flagg stroked his middle finger between Lola's lips, plucking her clit and swirling it around her opening. She trembled like a terrorized puppy and clamped her bottom lip between her teeth. "You don't like that, princess?" he asked. Abby grated and tightened her hands on the wheel, her knuckles turning a bloodless white. Lola shook her head vehemently. "Why not?" he asked and cupped one of her budding breasts with his other hand. "Are you gay?"

She let out a strangled sob when he tweaked her nipple through her dress with his thumb and forefinger. "Abby loves it when I touch her pussy. Don't you, Abs?" He looked at Abby and smirked evilly at her strained expression. He loved teasing her - and he _really_ loved it when she watched him fucking another girl, especially if they were young and sweet like Lola.

The road crested a hill, and at the top, they met a truck going in the opposite direction. Flagg turned Lola slightly to one side so that her hands were hidden, and in the back, Rag yanked the knife away from Lori's throat, leaving a thin red slash behind.

"We need to get off the road," Flagg said, "I wanna take my time with little miss here." He slipped his finger into her, and her body stiffened, breath catching. "Find somewhere nobody can hear three little girls scream."

Rag produced the map from his pocket and unfolded it across his lap, his eyes scanning a confusion of zigzagging roads. Lori wept bitterly, and Lynn rested her head against her sister's in a hollow display of comfort and commiseration. Rag tapped the knife against the paper. "Looks like there's an old logging road a couple miles up." He favored Lori and Lynn with a devious sidelong glance. "Nothing around for miles."

Flagg swirled his middle finger against Lola's walls - they spasmed in outrage at the violation even as the girl herself wept desolately. "Good," he said and pinched Lola's nipple hard. "I'm about to split my jeans over here."

He and Rag both laughed. Lynn's brow lowered and her lips pulled back from her teeth in a hateful sneer. She woked her wrists faster, tugging and rolling; the rope chewed her flesh, but she ignored the pain - if she could only get out, she and her sisters would be saved. She didn't know how exactly, but she was certain of it: They could run, or she could get the knife away from Rag and kill them all. She'd cross that bridge when she came to it.

Ahead and to the right, the trees parted, and a rutted dirt track disappeared into the forest. "There," Flagg nodded.

With a sigh, Abby slowed and spun the wheel. Rag crumpled the map up, tossed it over the side, and slided up next to Lori, his arm going around her shoulder and his fingers threading in Lynn's hair. Lynn pulled away, and Rag laughed. "You're feisty," he said. "I like feisty."

"Break her like a bronco," Flagg said. He slid his finger in and out of Lola with a wet squelch. She tucked her chin against her chest and tried to stop crying, but couldn't. "You like it, don't you, prin-cess?" Flagg broke the last word in two, drawing it sarcastically out. Abby flicked her eyes to them then away, her face flushing with anger; sunlight fell through wavering treetops and cast her features in demonic shadows. Flagg jammed his finger deep into Lola's core and grinned at the look of pain that crossed her face.

"Leave her the fuck alone," Lynn snapped.

Rag snatched her hair and dragged her head back. "Uh-uh," he said, "you don't talk to Flagg like that."

"Fuck you _and_ Flagg," Lynn said.

Rag's rolled his eyes; he reached the knife over, poked, and swiped it across the side of her head. She hissed through her teeth, and blood began to gush from her scalp, strands of hair falling from their base.

"Please stop," Lori muttered through her tears. "Please stop hurting us."

"I haven't even _started_ hurting you, bitch," Rag hissed and wiped the blade across her cheek, smearing her flesh with Lynn's blood. Lynn watched him from the corner of her eye, a tight, hot ball of rage forming in her chest. Her head stung from the blow, but she'd had a thousand cuts on her scalp, and this one felt incredibly minor. Warm, tacky blood still trickled down the side of her neck, and her skull still throbbed. She tried to pull her wrists apart, to create even the slightest gap between them, an opening just big enough for her to slip through, but if the rope was looser, it wasn't _that_ loose.

Yet.

The forest closed around them, pressing heavily against the flanks of the road. The tires dipped into ruts, and the car jostled.

In the front seat, Flagg pulled his hand out from under Lola's dress and held it up, an errant shaft of sunlight catching it; his fingers sparkled with her fluid, proof of the little girl's violation. Seeing it so clearly, Lynn shook with a mixture of horror, revulsion, and fury. If she was free, she'd kill that son of a bitch with her bare hands, jam her thumbs into his eyes, rip out his throat with her nails, smash her forehead against his nose until it shattered like a bottle of Jim Beam in a velvet bag. She'd kill Rag too, and Abby, she'd kill everyone and everything that got in her way. She was shaking now, hatred and adrenaline coursing through her veins - she felt like she could erupt into righteous flames at any moment, like she could rip whole trees from the ground, roots and all, like she could snap the rope binding her hands as though it were twine.

She tried the latter.

But couldn't.

"Here," Flagg said and pressed his slick fingers to Lola's lips. "Take a taste." He hissed soulless laughter. Lola turned her head away, and Flagg grabbed her by the back of her neck, forcing her to face him. "I said lick it off," Flagg said and tapped Lola's lips with his middle finger. Closing her eyes in humiliation, she opened her mouth, and Flagg jammed his fingers in; she winced and gagged.

"Don't fucking puke," Abby snapped sourly, "I _hate_ puking."

Flagg smiled like a shark and moved his fingers around the inside of Lola's mouth in a slow, taunting circe. "Good girl," he whispered. He took them out then slipped them into his own mouth, then made a show of licking them and humming in satisfaction.

"Is she ripe, Flagg?" Rag asked.

Pulling his fingers from his mouth with an audible, sickening _pop,_ Flagg swished her essence like a wine snob, then swallowed. "She sure is,"

The road dipped down, then bent left around a hillside covered with dead leaves; over Lori's bowed head, Lynn caught silvery flashes of a creek through the trees on the right. She needed to be vigilant; the opportunity for escape or rescue could present itself at any moment, and then be gone in the twinkling of an eye. She needed to be ready to seize it if, and when, it came.

"Park up there," Flagg said and nodded toward a wide spot in the road. The trees weren't as thick there, and from what Lynn could tell, there was a trail. It would make sense for these assholes to take them deep into the forest, away from the road, where they couldn't be seen or heard, which meant they would be on foot and in motion for at least a little while. Maybe she could make a break for it and draw one or two of them away, giving Lori a chance to fight back.

She looked at her older sister: Her head was bowed and her face screwed up in anguish, her thin frame shaking like a leaf on a tree. Tears slid down her sallow cheeks, and her lips quivered as she tried to keep from blubbering disconsolately.

She was in no state to help.

That left Lynn alone, the burden on her shoulders entire.

It wouldn't be easy, but she would do it. When Mom, Dad, and the others died, Lynn was only thirteen, a child lost and alone in the world. When she needed her most, Lori stepped up to the plate, sacrificing everything to take care of her and Lola - her education, her plans to go to college, even her boyfriend. She found strength, courage, and perseverance at a time when the weight of the world pressed down upon her.

Now it was Lynn's turn to be strong for her.

Abby spun the wheel and pulled to the side of the road, parking under the limpid boughs of an oak tree. She killed the engine and looked at Flagg, who rubbed Lola's breast through her dress and leered at her like a trailer park pedohphile. Abby pursed her lips and waited for him to acknowledge her, and when he didn't, she slapped his leg; he shook his head and glanced up at her like a man coming awake from a dream. "We're here," she said tightly.

Throwing the back door open, Rag got out, turned, grabbed Lori by the arm, and dragged her into a standing position. He held onto her and beckoned Lynn. "Come on, smart mouth," he said, "and don't try anything, got it?"

Lynn glared at him, then scooted over and allowed him to yank her out. Flagg opened his door, slipped out from under Lola, and hauled her behind, his hand clutching the back of her dress. Her eyes were huge with terror, the realization that she was going to be lead into the woods and never come out again dawning on her. She pulled back, but Flagg violently pulled her forward.

"No!" she shrieked, her voice cracking and hysterical. "Don't make me go in there! Don't make me go in there! Please!" Flagg spun her around and circled her neck with his forearm in a rough chokehold. She kicked and thrashed, mindless as an animal in her fear. He sneered and squeezed; her cheeks puffed out and her eyes bugged from their sockets, and acting on pure instinct, Lynn ripped away from Rag and flung herself at Flagg with a throat-ripping cry, head down like a battering ram. Rag shot out his arm, dragged her back, and flung her hard to the ground; dust kicked up and filled the air. He pulled back his foot, and Lynn caught a flash of boot arcing down; it connected with her stomach, and hot, white pain exploded over her like a bomb, the air rushing from her lungs and her body reflexively curling. Lori moved, maybe to help, maybe to run, but froze when Rag produced a CZ-75 and jammed the barrel into her face. "Don't fucking move," he said and cocked the hammer.

Flagg watched, his arm around Lola's shoulders; her head was hung and she wept impassionedly, her shoulders shaking and her breathing coming in sharp, wet gasps. Eyes wide and terrorized, Lori nodded jerkily.

Keeping the gun, and his eyes, firmly on Lori, he crouched, grabbed hold of Lynn's ponytail, and drew her to her feet. Pain radiating from her stomach in hot, sickening waves, and she felt like she was going to throw up.

Certain that Lori wouldn't try anything, Rag pressed the barrel against the side of Lynn's head, the touch of cold metal sending an electric shock of fright down her spine. "I told you not to try anything," he said, "and you tried something. What, are you deaf? _No hablo ingles?_ " He got closer and closer to her ear as he spoke until his lips brushed her and his hot breath broke against her skin. Her heart raced and the back of her neck prickled - she expected him to pull the trigger at any moment. Would she know? Would she hear the shot before the bullet tore through her brain and out the other side of her skull? Would the world flash white then turn dark? Or would she simply...stop?

Mortal fear bubbled up from the depths of her soul like tar, and she fought to keep it from overwhelming her. She couldn't let herself fall apart - her sisters needed her...Lori needed her, Lola needed her.

Rag nipped her earlobe between his teeth and she cringed so hard she almost lost her balance. He bit harder; she hissed in pain as skin tore. "Are you gonna be good now?"

Lynn's eyes darted to Lori; she was pale, shaking. She tried to look over her shoulder at Lola, but Rag grabbed her chin and held her head in place. "Are you going to be good now?" he asked again, carefully enunciating each word as though she were stupid.

She weakly nodded.

Yes.

Until I kill your ass.

Rag nodded. "Good."

In the car, Abby took the keys out of the ignition and threw them angrily onto the seat, her eyes narrowed to predatory slits. Flagg stood behind the sobbing little girl with him arm around her and his sizeable erection pressed obscenely against her butt. Knowing that he was hard for that little skank and not for her filled her chest with loathing. She was suddenly aware of the .38 in the small of her back, its outline warm and full against her skin. She could take it out, jam it against the slut's head, and BOOM. She didn't care about the other two - they were older and just a quick fuck. It was _Lola_ she was worried about, because Flagg _really_ liked girls her age.

More than he liked her.

Bearing down on her teeth, she slammed the door open and got out. On the other side of the car, Flagg looked up the trail, his hand clamped on Lola's shoulder. Rag had his arm around Lynn's shoulders, his opposite hand cupping Lori's hip. Abby walked up and stood beside the brunette, her arms crossing.

The path climbed a slight hill before bending right and disappearing into the woods. Sunlight cascaded through interlaced treetops and dappled the ground with swaying shadows; the wind was hot, dry, and smelled of earth. Lori sniffled, and Abby grated. She _hated_ sniveling - it reminded her of her sister and how she'd cry late into the night in their shared room because _boo hoo hoo, Daddy touched me._ Life sucks, honey; shut the fuck up and deal with it.

Flagg shoved Lola forward and followed up the trail, the gloom of the forest closing over them like the shadow of death. "Here," Rag said and pushed Lori toward Abby. "I need both hands for Miss Trouble." He snatched Lynn by the back of her shirt and pushed her out in front of him. "Walk, bitch."

Sighing, Abby looked at the blonde: Her eyes were squeezed closed and her lips trembled. "Please don't hurt my sisters," she said, and broke down. "Please don't hurt -"

"Shut the fuck up," Abby spat and slapped Lori hard across the back of the head; the girl stumbled and nearly fell to her knees, but Abby yanked her back by her shirt. She reached behind, took out the gun, and jammed it against the side of Lori's neck; she cried harder. "Look, bitch," Abby said, "crying's not gonna help. Keep your mouth shut and _maybe_ we'll let you live."

Lori doubted that with everything she had, but she sniffed deeply and fought to regain control of herself. Abby stepped back and gestured toward the trailhead with the gun. "Go."

With a deep, shivery breath, Lori started up the path, her feet leaden. She looked up and spotted Lynn, Rag at her elbow, the barrel of his gun hovering inches from her side. The urge to rush him came over her, and she glanced back at Abby before she could stop herself - the woman aimed from the hip, the barrel pointed directly at her back. "Turn around," Abby commanded, and Lori whipped her head away. If she tried anything, she'd be gunned down like a dog and be absolutely no help to her sisters.

They formed a sloppy line as they marched up the path, Lola in front, Flagg's hand on her shoulder, and Abby in the rear, the gun trained on Lori's back. Lori kept her eyes straight ahead, trying to see Lola over the others but too scared to crane her neck lest she incur Abby's wrath. She could hear her little sister crying, and not being able to comfort her, or to promise that everything would be okay, brought tears to her own eyes, and for the first time in almost five years, she spoke to God.

With fierce, earnest intensity.

 _Please, Father, help us...please don't let them hurt us...don't let them hurt Lynn and Lola…_

Tears welled in her eyes and stumbled; Abby brought the butt of the gun down hard between her shoulder blades, and her knees gave out, spilling her to the dirt. Flashing, Abby grabbed her by the back of the shirt and pulled her up. "Keep walking," she said and pushed Lori down the path. "Do you have any idea where we're even going?" Abby asked Rag.

"Nope," Rag said, "but we'll know it when we see it."

At the head of the pack, Flagg said, "Like porn."

"Right-o, Flagg-O," Rag said and rammed the gun into Lynn's hip. "And speaking of porn, too bad we don't have a camera." The corners of his mouth turned sharply up, and a chill blew through Lori's soul.

The path rose over a hill and then sloped down the other side. The flanking terrain was hilly and choked with trees, the forest floor covered with dead leaves and fallen trunks like the twisted remains of prehistoric creatures. Sunlight filtered through the breeze-tossed tops and made coins of brilliance on the ground. "You gonna jack off to it later?" Flagg asked over his shoulder.

Lynn darted her eyes around, scanning the lay of the land and committing every detail to memory. She glanced back at Lori; her head was down but she didn't seem to be crying.

Her gaze met Abby's, and the older woman lowered her brow. "Turn around, bitch."

Lynn turned away and flexed her wrists just a little so that Abby wouldn't see; her feet shuffled thoughtlessly, her muscles on autopilot. "You like anal?" Rag asked casually and leaned in. A shudder raced through her as she imagined this short, greasy, beady-eyed toad doing...that...to her, and he laughed, then squeezed her butt cheek through her jeans. "Cuz I do." He slipped his arm around her hip and pulled her flush, his lips hovering inches from her skin, his rank breath in her nose. Hatred and revulsion filled her, and she didn't know whether to gag or turn and bite his stupid nose off.

If she could get away with the latter, she'd do that. In a heartbeat.

In front, Flagg put both of his hands on Lola's shoulders and squeezed; her steps were small, uncertain, her feet dragging in the dirt. "You're a really pretty girl," he said, "you could be in beauty pageants." She quaked under his touch, and he slid his hand down her chest, over one of her blossoming mounds; it was soft and warm, filling his palm but barely. He buried his nose in her hair and took a deep whiff, her clean scent rolling through his head like warm, sun-kissed spring air. His erection twitched, and he rocked his hips slowly forward, grinding it against her. She shivered and choked. He kissed the top of her head, his hand creeping under the neckline of her dress and closing around her bare breast; his other hand crawled between her legs, and his lips went to her ear. "You're not wearing a bra," he said, "you're a dirty little princess, aren't you?"

She bit her bottom lip, tears sliding down her face like diamonds. Flagg came to a stop and kissed the side of her neck, his tongue flicking out like a slime-slathered worm and dancing across her flesh. His breathing was ragged, his erection instantly prodding her lower back, his hands two nightwalking rapists prowling her body for ingress. Lola scrunched her shoulders defensively and let out a miserable moan. "Please stop." Her voice was small, broken, and it struck Lynn's heart like an icepick. She was blind to Rag fondling her breast through her shirt, to his husky exhalations on her neck, to everything but her little sister. Please, God, let something happen before he hurts her, please, God, let me get out, something, please, something, something somethingsomethingsomething.

Flagg looked up and to the right - the trees were spaced far apart, the ground lumpy and uneven. "Here," he jerked, and dragged Lola off the trail. She wailed in holy terror and planted her feet into the ground, her tears coming faster, vague sobs that she may have meant to be words spilling from her lips. Flagg pulled, and she resisted. He turned, brought the back of his hand up, then down it a deadly arc across her face. Her head whipped to one side and she went limp.

Lynn couldn't take it. She yanked away from Rag and started toward him, determined that _this_ time she would get him...tackle him...rip his throat out with her teeth...she might die but at least he would too, and he would never hurt Lola again. Rag snagged her shirt and flung her to the ground. She landed on her stomach, her chin connecting with the earth, her teeth clacking and a jarring vibration going through her skull "You just don't fucking learn," he huffed. He lashed out and kicked her in the side; Lynn cried out as pain clutched her in an iron grip, heart slamming, lungs withering. He did it again, and she jumped with a grunt.

"I fucking hate dumb cunts like you, the ones that try to play hero"

He stepped over her and straddled her back, one hand plunging into her hair and the other crashing into the side of her head, palm closed, knuckles knotted. Dazzling red light burst across her vision as her head jerked from point A to point B, tears welled in her eyes and her sense of smell ceased for a moment in time.

Shaking her head as if in peturbement, Abby led Lori into the forest, following Flagg, who was already far ahead, his hands all over Lola and his lips kissing her ear and neck. Abby clenched her teeth and dug her nails into Lori's shoulder, eliciting a pained yelp. "Stop, God, stop!"

"You and your sisters are gonna die," Abby spat, "all of you."

Lori moaned.

"And you're gonna watch it," Abby hissed.

"Please."

"Fuck _you._ " Abby shot her arm out and Lori went to her knees, brittle brown leaves crunching under her weight. Before she could recover, Abby grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her to her feet. "Skank. Slut. Fucking gutter trash bimbo cocksucking piece of whore _shit."_

On the path, Rag heaved Lynn up by her ponytail and forced her on her feet. He jammed the CZ into the small of her back, forcing her off the path and into the forest. He held onto her hair, using it as a steering till. Lynn gasped for air, legs weak, stomach burning, chest tight. The edges of her vision were tinged with gray and the world spun wildly. Each breath singed her lungs, and her side twinged with every expansion of her chest. Time jumped, and suddenly she was in a clearing, a circle of trees looming over like a cannibal monsters. Flagg shoved Lola face-first into a drift of leaves and knelt behind her. She started to wiggle away, her throat ripping shrieks high, hitching, and plaintive, resounding through the forest and scaring birds into flight; Flagg grabbed her by the hips and dragged her back.

"Stop, God, please, she's just a little girl!" Lori sobbed desperately, "please don't rape her, please don't hurt my sister! Please, God, don't hurt my baby!" The last words drew agonizingly out between sobs as she lost control, her voice breaking with hysteria. Abby sneered contemptuously, drew the pistol back, and whacked it hard against the side of Lori's head, driving her to the ground.

Tears filled Lynn's eyes as Rag forced her to her knees facing Flagg and Lola - the world blurred but Lola's terrified caterwauling didn't, and Lynn started to cry with shoulder shaking intensity, not for herself, but for Lola. She _was_ just a little girl - she and Lori were women, they could take it, but Lola was only eleven...a child. She pulled as hard as she could at the rope binding her hands in one last, frantic attempt to free herself, one thought in her panicked mind: Stop Flagg from hurting Lola.

She felt it loosen a little, or maybe it was wishful thinking.

"Boo-hoo-hoo!" Rag howled, his voice echoing. He slammed the sole of his boot against the back of Lynn's head, toppling her like felled tree; the ground rushed up to meet her, the earth soft and spongy, dirt clogging her nose and mouth. "Daddy Rag's gonna _give_ you a reason to cry," he said and knelt beside her, "a _real_ good fucking reason." He jammed his fingers into the waistband of her jeans and yanked them down over her butt, her underwear coming with - cool air touched bare skin, and goosebumps raked her arms and legs.

She tried to push up, but Rag socked her face into the dirt and held her there from her neck as he pulled her pants down the rest of the way. "Your undies are totes adorable, red is like my favorite color!" Rag said while giggling like a schoolgirl. She closed her legs in token defiance. "Don't be shy, lemme get a closer look!" He let go of her neck and hooked his fingers around the waistband, ripping them off, taking his oversized hat off and pulling them over his head and face like a lucha mask. He took in a exaggerated deep breath through his nose and smelled the scent of cunt, fear, and ass. Lola's screaming haunted her from every side, and she wept into the soil because she couldn't stop it...she failed her little sister when she needed her most. That son of a bitch was going to rape her and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it other than watch it with a front row seat.

Rag turned to Flagg and Abby with a stupid child like grin on his face. "Hey guys, is this a good look for me?" Flagg ignored him and Abby turned. Her pissy expression not leaving her face. "You actually look even more retarded." Rag blew raspberries and switched back to his hat, returning his full undivided attention back to the crying brunette below him.

Lori got to her knees and leaned heavily against the warped trunk of a tree, her body shaking in hysterics, her eyes wide and staring; twigs and leaves stuck in her hair and her face had drained completely of blood, leaving it white as sour milk. Abby towered over her, blotting out the sun, a dark, leering shadow. Lori looked up at her, tears tracking through the dirt on her cheeks. "Please make them stop," she chattered, "please make them stop. I'll do anything." Her shaking increased and she threw her head back. " _ANYTHING!"_ she wailed. " _I'LL DO ANYTHING!"_ Abby rested a palm on the tree and leaned close to Lori.

"You can start by shutting the fuck up," Abby said and kicked her.

* * *

 **This and the next chapter were originally one but I broke it up because if I didn't, it'd be really, really long.**


	3. The Woods Are Dark

**The following chapter contains graphic depictions of rape and torture. Reader discretion is advised.**

* * *

Flagg pulled Lola to her knees and hiked her dress up around her hips, a boyish grin touching his lips when he caught sight of her pink panties: A gold crown was embroidered across the butt. He giggled darkly, reached into his coat, and came out with a straight razor, wood handle, dull, dirty blade. Pressing the flat edge against the swell of her butt, he slipped it under the fabric then jerked, ripping it with a crisp tearing sound. She no longer screamed or fought; she simply cried like a little girl woken from a nightmare, too afraid to move, hoping to God that Mommy and Daddy would hear and come save her.

Only Mommy and Daddy weren't here.

She'd have to settle for him.

Grabbing her panties, he tugged and they came off in his hand, baring her ass for his fevered eyes. He dropped them to the ground and laid his palms flat on her cheeks, then pried them apart, exposing her pink, vulnerable center - her full, hairless lips smooshed between her thighs, her puckered butthole winking as her muscles spasmed in holy terror.

Flagg rocked back on his knees, tossed the knife aside, and unbuckled his belt.

"You're gonna like this," Rag's putrid breath filled Lynn's ear. His hand moved slowly over her butt and sent ripples of horror through her body. He pulled away, then his open palm came down with a meaty _slap_. She sucked a pained intake of breath through her teeth and squeezed her eyes closed.

She couldn't stop what was about to happen.

She could only take it and not give them the satisfaction of screaming...or crying...or begging.

"I promise," he said and tittered, "or your money back, guaranteed."

When she felt his fingers grazing her middle, she bit her lower lip and braced her forehead against the ground. Lori screamed in pain, and Lynn could only imagine what was happening to her - imagine and hate herself for not being able to help her. _I'm sorry,_ she thought, and a single tear coursed down her face, _I'm so sorry._ The floodgates loosened at the same moment Rag rammed his index finger into her ass; hot, stinging pain tore through her grief, his jagged nail scraping her, ripping against her dry insides. She bore down on her teeth and shuddered against the violation.

Abby dropped to her knees next to Lori, shoved her onto her back, and mounted her hips. "No!" the girl screamed. "No!" Abby tossed the gun into the leaves with a hollow thud and smirked down at her prey like a satisfied cat, her cold blue eyes flashing with sin. She grabbed the front of Lori's shirt and yanked, ripping it.

"I can't stand little blonde sluts like you," Abby growled. "Miss middle-class-my-shit-don't-stink. Fuck you." She balled her fist and slammed it into Lori's temple. Lori head rocked to one side, and Abby did it again. "Your rich daddy isn't here to help you." She punched Lori once more, this time directly in the mouth; her lips split and her front teeth shattered. The hot, coppery twang of blood coated her tongue and throbbing agony clutched her face like an angry hand. She coughed, and red sprayed across the front of Abby's shirt; the woman's brows angled down in a V and she hit Lori in the nose - it brust like an overripe tomato, and stars filled Lori's field of vision. She screamed, but it came out as a wet gurgle. "You're gonna suffer," Abby said and pawed at the front of Lori's pants. "You're gonna _see_ what it's like." She yanked them down, then did the same to her underwear. Lifting her, she brushed them down to Lori's knees, settled, and cupped the girl's genitals in her hand. With a glower, she squeezed, and a breathy howl exploded from Lori's throat.

Flagg reached into his pants and brought out his erection. Lola lay prostrate on the ground, her sobs muffled and her body shaking. He grabbed her hips and dragged her to her knees, her face buried in leaves; her body was dead weight. "I'll make it good," he panted and grinned, "don't worry about that. You're gonna love it, princess." He wedged his knees in-between hers and forced them apart. Her heat caressed him, and he paused to savor the moment, his head tilting back and his nostrils flaring as he drew in her scent.

Rag added a second finger and jammed them violently in and out; Lynn ground her teeth and struggled to regulate her breathing. The pain was exquisite, drowning out everything else - Lori's moans, Lola's weeping, even her own torturous thoughts. Rag shoved her face deeper into the earth and pulled back, then rammed forward again; she couldn't scream, wouldn't scream, _did_ scream.

"Hey, Flagg," Rag said, and when Flagg looked over his shoulder, he smiled, "I gotta _ass_ you a question."

Flagg sniffed humorlessly and Rag giggled. "How many you got in there?" Flagg asked.

"Two."

"Get a whole fist in, then talk to me."

Rag frowned and looked down at Lynn. "You think I can?"

Flagg shrugged. "I dunno. Only one way to find out."

Lori's head whipped back and forth, her blonde hair rustling in the leaves. Abby held a stick up to her face and tapped the jagged point against the tip of her nose, making Lori wince. "People like you go through life like nothing," the older woman said bitterly, "You have everything fucking _handed_ to you. You're soft and spoiled." Here Abby leaned in until her nose was touching Lori's. "And I hate you."

Shifting back, she pressed the stick against Lori's folds and used it to pry them apart. The girl's eyes widened when it touched her entrance, and before she could scream, Abby thrust it into her core, her walls tearing and catching splinters. Excruciating pain detonated in Lori's depths, and she screamed so hard her skull throbbed. Abby smiled evilly, pulled it back, and rammed it forward - the tip punctured something, and Lori swooned, the darkness of unconciousness stealing over her like black water.

"Please don't hurt me," Lola begged, her voice a somber whisper, "please don't make it hurt, please, please…"

Flagg pressed his tip to her entrance, and she moaned. "It won't hurt," he panted, "I promise."

She bit her bottom lip and steeled herself for what was about to happen, her breathing irregular and her tears falling like drops of rain. Maybe it would help to think of something happy while he did it. She called up a vision of her family - her mother, her father, all of her sisters, and her brother. She saw Lana grinning and covered in mud, just as she always had been in life. Lola saw herself going to her twin and throwing her arms around her. _I missed you so -_

Flagg thrusted and filled her completely - stinging, rending red pain exploded in the center of her head and she shrieked into the dirt. Everything from her chest down was suddenly on fire and her body strained as though it were being torn in half; she could feel every inch of him spreading her to the the point of bursting, his head at her limit and his shaft pulsing, each throbbing beat sending another wave of torment into her skull. Flagg pulled back and slammed forward, and Lola screamed again, her forehead rubbing back and forth against the ground as if in denial of what was happening to her and fat tears rolling down her face. Flagg surged into her again, and her shaky knees went out from under her. Flagg pinned her to the ground with his body, planted his arms on either side of her, and thrusted deep, his head battering her tender cervix. The pain was surreal - she couldn't cry, couldn't think, couldn't even breathe. Flagg placed a cold, slimy kiss to the side of her neck, his breath puffing into her ear.

"How's it feel, princess? Are you gonna cum for daddy?"

About fifteen feet away, Lynn laid prone on the forest floor against dead leaves and foliage. Rag mounted her from behind, thighs over hers and excited like an eleven year old boy on Christmas. He pulled his gun out from his back and stuffed it into his pocket. He unzipped his maroon pants and yanked his pink boxers down under his sack. He grabbed the shaft of his cock, it was primed and fully inflated. Its size wasn't anything to write home about; but it was thick and had pimples near the base, shaved at the top but hairy at the bottom. He began to laugh, a real and morbid laugh as he basked the sight below him.

He spat against her brown starfish mindlessly and threw his hips against her butt, his dick sinking into her with only spit acting as lube. They both winced as skin was dragged and pulled. Rag threw back his head and let out a bearly growl.

She turned away from Lola. Her eyes shut tight, Dark and shimmering with tears and her lips a tight white slash.

Rag grabbed her ponytail, yanked her head back, and drilled her like a jackhammer on the lowest setting; all the way in as fast as gravity would take him, all the way out slower. He leaned down and used his other hand to grab her throat from the front and began sinking his hard rod in and out of her; slowly as to reach every corner and crevice in her tight ass, picking up traces of her last shit and spreading them along her walls and along his infested dick.

Rag lifted himself up a bit, letting the girls knuckles and fingertips tickle his abdomen. She tried to pull at the ropes again but Rag pulled the rope end back, tightening the bond and her bondage. He bit his lower lip and intaked a deep breath through his nose, basking in the smell of sex, dirt, and her primal fear. He leaned down and licked her earlobe, she puckered her ass and he groaned in ecstasy.

He's raped and forced his way in tons of girls before. Especially the "I am a rock" types like these, but these ones who put up a fight and being the "tough girl role model" to their group of friends and family. It made him laugh, but it also put a sour taste in his mouth. He was the dominant one during sex and in this gang, he wanted to prove it to Flagg and Abby. He was going to break this girl like a fucking toothpick.

"Who else is in your family?" He stated bluntly, switching holes and rutting the head of his cock into her pussy. She winced and suddenly felt a hot flush of shame course through her body. No one has ever touched her there, save for herself and only herself, she clasped her eyes shut, holding back a wave of tears.

"N-" She didn't want to get smashed in the head again, but she didn't want to give this psycho an answer.

"Huh? Make words, you moron. Yes means uh-huh, No means nu-uh." He rutted the head of his cock into her shivering cunt, then back into her ass, mixing the dirt and juices of two sacred holes she wanted to save for "the right man" What a fucking joke that was, she'd be lucky to make it out alive.

Alone.

"No one..." she said, eyes mindlessly staring into the deep dark woods. She could swore she saw the depraved dead spirits of the forest, watching her. Suddenly she realized just how far hope and mercy was from her and her sisters. He rutted his cock back into her ass again, hot thick pain exploded in her ass and nothing but the sounds of Lola screaming, Lori sobbing, and this debauched man groaning and breathing behind her against her naked ear. The forest was entirely naked and weak, just like her. She leaked more tears, the physical and mental pain beginning to become unbearable.

"What about your mommy and daddy? I'm sure you had at least one of those." Suddenly the memories of her parents overcame her. Her dominator kept chatting, but the memories of Lola and Lori before and after the accident seeped in, the memories of her playing football out back with her brother, the memories of smiling and just being a kid.

The floodgates opened, and for the first time during this whole fiasco she began to truly cry. Tears leaked through her tight slits, and then she choked a sob. She attempted to regain composure, curling her toes from the foreign pain exploding in her ass, she could swore it was getting deeper and deeper into her stomach every thrust.

"What you, crying? Pussy?" He pulled his cock out and leaned up, still on his knees and his hands fee. A perverted feeling of confidence and pride overtaking him for breaking this 18 year old girl. He felt like such a man, but he wanted more. He pulled his gun from his pocket and stuffed in against her chafed asshole. It's cold rectangular frontside and circular chamber of death making its presence prominent inside her body.

"NO!" Lynn flinched away and screamed louder than she had so far, thrashing under him and away from imminent death.

Rag wheezed a laugh and cocked the hammer, pretending the girl below him was the silencer to his CZ, imaging how a shot would exit out her mouth and into the deep forest. He imagined it hitting a wild boar and then the gang would feast upon it's flesh and then the flesh of their victims after the bukkake tsunami had reached it's movie-like climax. He then saddened, not at Lynn wailing and trying to break free from underneath him, but because he knew Flagg and Abby would make fun of him and tell him that "we'll get some real food, you dumb cunt, as soon as we find our way outta these stupid woods."

Rag was brought back to reality by Lynn attempting to grasp at his shirt. He cocked and eyebrow and giggled. Does this count as a reach around or does she just want to help daddy Rag cum already so he can pull the trigger and split her into two?

Her partner pulled out fast, hoping it ruptured something, and grabbed one of her wrists and guided it towards his pulsating cock. He smiled as she began to grasp it, but his smile turned to cringe and she grabbed it as hard as she could, yanking it as if she was trying to rip it off.

As much as he enjoyed sadism and masochism, he did not enjoy this sharp pain. He especially did not enjoy her defiance. In pain and fury, he raised his fist. Eyes on the prize and full of rabid anger, his other hand grabbed his wrist and he brought down his elbow in a deadly arc against the back of her head. her grip ceased instantly and her entire body jolted and jumped. Stars exploded in her vision and reality almost ceased to exist to Lynn. Rag could have sworn he was about to start foaming at the mouth, but regained his composure, or the lack thereof.

"Donkey Punch" proclaimed Rag, he cackled maniacally and lifted one knee up and took a stand, he pulled out the gun and smelled the tip...then he licked it.

Her chestnut hair was full of leaves and dirt, it was a messy ponytail with trails of hair spilled alongside her ears and peak. Her eyes were hazed and unfocused from the blow to the back of the head. Her nose was bloody, but not bent. He thought of raising his boot and crushing her nose, but he wanted to see her pretty little face just a bit longer. Her teeth were full of dirt and blood tickled alongside the right corner of her mouth, he was pretty sure a tooth or two went down her throat. Bruises and inflated tender skin flanked both sides of her temple, but no damage to her eyes. Her pink puffy eyes were free of bruises, but not of the mixture of fresh and dried tears. the sight that really made Rag proud. Her neck was red and handprints were identifiable, bruises and filth danced across her beautiful white freckled skin, and cuts were visible on the sides where she was thrown into the dirt. She was naked from the waist down, save for her white socks and one black shoe, her pussy once pretty and pink was now coated with precum, blood, dirt, grass, and her own unwiped shit. Her knees and thighs were nearly as pink and sore as her neck. Her shirt was ridden up over her breasts, they weren't big, but they were nice and perky. Just the way Rag liked them.

He wanted to be her first, and her last.

The deviant got on his knees and angled his cock towards her cunt. He surged the head of his cock forward, pushing apart her lips and he leaned down. One of his hands around his shaft and the other on the ground near Lynn's face to lift himself up. He brushed his cock up and down against her cunt like a paintbrush to a canvas. He thrusted forward and growled. Lynn winced but didn't vocalize her pain or pleasure. Both of her holes virginities were just taken by this scum. She wanted to cry but the tears had finally ran out.

Lori let loose a throat-tearing scream when Abby jammed the stick as far as it would go, the point sinking into the opening of her cervix and the sharp knobs along its side ripping her walls. Every thought, every memory, every sense burned away in an apocalyptic conflagration of agony and her voice cracked. Abby leered, her shadowy face twisted in hatred, eyes burning lips turned up in a distasteful sneer. Lori dug her fingernails so hard into the padding of her palms that they drew blood and bit her heels into the dirt. Abby ripped the stick out; it was coated in dark, rich blood, its knobs and knots stuck with bits of quivering pink tissue. The pain was like fire so hot it was cold; she felt only pressure, then sank into unconscious, panic bursting in her chest as her vision darkened. He eyes rolled back into her head and she went limp, her struggles ceasing entirely. "Can't handle it, huh, bitch?" Abby asked. Gripping the stick in both hands like a knife, she lifted it over her head, then brought it down, the point plunging into Lori's upper thigh. The girl's face was expressionless, slack, dull, and dumb. Abby's seething hatred intensified, and she ripped the stick out of her leg; thin rivulets of blood dribbled down and onto the ground, more oozing from her ruined genitals, sticking to the insides of her pale thighs and splattering dead leaves.

Abby panted like a wild animal, brought the stick up again, then flashed it down, the jagged end tearing a gash in Lori's right hip. Abby hated the girl, hated what she stood for, hated that she got a happy life in the suburbs while _she_ got a shit father, a shit trailer, and a shit childhood. It wasn't fair - it wasn't fucking fair and she was gonna make the bitch pay. Everything comes with a price, after all, even if you don't think it does. The stick came up again, then down, piercing the soft mound of flesh over Lori's center. Abby smiled to herself as she imagined the blonde's uterus rupturing and her womb leaking out like chunky marinara sauce. "You deserve all of this," Abby hissed.

On the other side of the clearing, Flagg took Lola's earlobe between his teeth and bit down; she could barely feel it through the pain of his dick spreading her pelvis. Her muscles screamed and cramped, her bones groaned like the steel frame of a collapsing building, and her heart slammed against her ribs so hard she feared one would crack. Her messy hair, dotted with twigs and leaves, hung in her face, veiling her twisted features; eyes closed, teeth bared, tears flowing through the grime coating her cheeks. "Tell me you like it," Flagg grunted.

When Lola didn't speak, he slammed her face into the ground; red flashed across the backs of her eyelids and one of her front teeth snapped, dropping onto a leaf in a gush of blood. "Tell me you're cumming!"

Lola swallowed a mixture of blood and saliva, then turned her face, cheek against the ground. Her eyes were closed, but tears leaked out anyway. Her lips trembled, and when she opened them, she started to weep anew. Had she been able to think, she wouldn't have known which was worse: The pain or the shame.

All of that blew away when Flagg's fist crashed into her side; her walls clamped down on him and the pain went from intolerable to excruciating - the breath rushed out of her lungs and she couldn't even scream. "Tell me you're cumming!"

Lola sucked a great gulp of air, a leaf drawing into her mouth and plastering to her tongue. "I-I'm cumming," she forced through her tears.

"You like me plowing your little fairy princess pussy, don't you?"

She choked out a sob.

"Don't you?"

"Yes," she managed in a shallow whisper.

Flagg increased his speed, and the pain increased with it. "Call me daddy."

A vision of her father flashed before Lola's eyes, the image faded like an old photograph in a forgotten scrapbook. She was six when he died, and sometimes she could barely remember what he looked like. She remembered his hugs, though, and his warmth, how he would tuck her into bed at night and kiss her on the forehead with a soft, gentle _I love you, honey._ He was nothing like the monster behind her, and she couldn't bring herself to call him what she once called her father. That was a special name, a sacred name, one imbued with love and affection; Daddys didn't hurt their little girls, they didn't make them cry and hurt and bleed - they loved and protected them, safe and warm in their strong, loving arms.

Flagg put his lips to Lola's bloody ear. "Call me daddy."

She couldn't.

She _wouldn't_.

His fingers threaded into her hair and pulled, drawing a shattered gasp from her throat. "Call me daddy." He threw his hips forward and smashed into the opening of her womb like a clapper striking a bell. "Call me daddy," he growled and slammed her face into the dirt, rubbing her head slowly back and forth. Soil clogged her nostrils and filled her mouth, caking her tongue and the insides of her cheeks. He pulled her head back and slammed it forward again - a jagged shard of broken tooth tore through her bottom lip. He did it again, and dizziness filled her head; choking on blood, dirt, leaves, every pain sensor in her body flaring as he pulled back then blasted forward, knocking loose a single word.

"Daddy!" she wailed, and broke down. "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" She sucked air and squeezed her eyes closed, as if by doing so she could make all the pain, all the horror, and all the humiliation go away. She saw her father's face and yearned to be safe in his arms, far from this terrible place and these terrible people. "Daddy," she said through her tears. " _Da-aaaa-aaa-aaddy."_ She laid her face in the dirt and wept bitterly, calling for her father between sobs, so lost in her hysteria that she was certain he would hear and come to her - he had to, he was her daddy and daddys protect their little girls.

"That's my girl," Flagg said and chuckled darkly. His sunglasses were askew and strands of his hair stuck out at funny angles. He propped his hands on either side of Lola's head and slammed deep into her core, knocking another satisfying _Dad-dy_ from her throat. Her muscles gripped him tightly and her walls stroked him like rippling wet velvet. Little slut could cry all she wanted, but he knew she liked it - every woman likes it when you're rough with them, even little ones like Lola. _Especially_ the little ones.

Abby pulled a Swiss Army Knife from her back pocket and opened it; Lori lay slack beneath her, eyelids fluttering and lips mumbling incoherently. Abby leaned over, her back arching and her shirt riding up, and held the sharp end of the blade to Lori's cheek. "How does _this_ feel?" she asked and flicked her wrist; steel tearing skin. Blood gushed between jagged flaps and ran down the side of Lori's throat. Abby jerked the knife across the ridge of the girl's forehead, leaving a red slash in her wake. "And _that,_ little miss high-and-mighty?"

Behind her, Lola screamed _Daddy!_ And Abby grated. She turned and watched them over her shoulder; Flagg slamming into Lola, her little feet kicking between his knees and rustling the leaves. His heavy breathing was audible even from here, and she could imagine she smelled his excitement on the air. It was sharper than it was with her, danker, and hot rage clutched her chest. She spun on Lori, who was just beginning to come awake. Seething, fuming, shoulders shaking, she gripped the knife in one hand, brought it up, then down onto Lori's chest, puncturing her right breast. Lori's back lifted off the ground and a pained, breathy cry escaped her lips. She ripped the knife out and slammed it down again, the tip hitting Lori's collarbone and sending a jarring vibration up her arm.

Lori gasped, and Abby did it again; the blade snapped in half and the jagged metal stub nicked the side of Abby's hand; she hissed. "You stupid bitch!" grabbed the front of Lori's shirt with one hand, dragged her into a half sitting position, and drove the nub into her forehead, gashing her skin. Lori's eyes cleared and she screamed; thrashed back and forth, trying but failing to pull back. Abby threw the knife away and slapped Lori across the face, knocking her head to one side. "Fucking stupid ugly cunt!" She punctuated each word with a savage blow; blood and slobber flew from Lori's lips. Abby grabbed her shirt in both hands and shook her violently back and forth like a rag doll; the older woman's lips peeled back from her teeth and fire filled her eyes.

She didn't see Lori...she saw Lola.

"You bitch!" Abby shrieked and slapped her. "YOU HAVE EVERYTHING!" She slapped her again and again, the smack of skin on skin ringing through the forest like cannonfire. "WHY DO YOU HAVE TO TAKE HIM TOO?" She shoved Lori to the ground and looked frantically around, her bangs falling in her eyes. Where was her fucking knife? She was gonna carve this fucking _princess_ up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

Lynn stared into the reddening sky with vacant eyes; a chorus of aches and pains shot through her body and the fight was draining out of her.

The only thing that kept her from giving up entirely was her sisters - Lori and Lola. They lived for one another, and in the years following the accident, they formed a new family - it was smaller and emptier than the last, but it was all they had, and their love for one another slowly closed the gaping wounds in her heart. They were everything to her; she didn't date, didn't hang with friends, and didn't play on as many sports teams as she used to because Lori and Lola needed her as much as she needed them.

Across the clearing, Lola screamed _Daddy_ in a high, hitching voice.

Her shame turned to anger, and she flexed her wrists against the rope, her skin chafing; she ignored the pain and rubbed faster. The binding was looser, just enough that _maybe_ if she worked up some blood she could slip out.

Flagg pulled almost all the way out of Lola, then sank himself back in, the feeling of her tiny body squeezing him too much to take for much longer. Spasms wracked her, making her twitch like a dying bug, but her screams had tapered off and she whimpered quietly. He leaned over, pressed his lips to her neck, and took a deep whiff of her hair - the fruity scent of her shampoo masked by sweat, dirty, and fear.

He was close; he went faster, thrusting into her in long, rough strokes. "You're gonna make daddy cum, princess," he said.

She didn't reply.

He drew a deep, shivering breath. "Can I cum in you?"

No response. It didn't matter. He was going to anyway.

Lynn rolled her wrists furiously as Rag slammed into her; she closed her eyes and focused all of her energy on the rope, working now with razor sharp determination. It was looser than before. She hissed at the stinging as the heavy material abraded her wrists; warm, sticky blood began to flow, and she worked faster, spreading it around like WD-40 on a rusty hinge. Rag slammed hard into her, pushed her back against the dirt. The rope slipped a little, and she pulled with all her strength.

Abby gave up her search for the knife and punched Lori in the temple instead. "ALL YOU DO IS TAKE!" she screamed. "YOU'RE A THIEVING SLUT!" Lori's eyes were dazed and drunken, her head swaying. She looked like a boxer one swift jab away from dropping to the mat and never getting up again.

That made Abby smile.

She grabbed the girl around the neck and squeezed, her thumbs pressing into her jugular; Lori's eyes shot open and filled with panic. "That's right, bitch," Abby hissed, spittle flying from her lips and spraying Lori's face. "Now you die."

Flagg rammed into Lola one final time and dug his nails deep into her hips as he came, his dick swelling in her and ripping a unisonal cry of pain from both of their throats. Lola pressed her forehead into the dirt and screamed in horror and madness, her voice rolling through the trees, rising and filling the world, getting sharper and rawer with every pump of Flagg's dick. His sunglasses dropped onto the back of her head, bounced off, and lay in the dirt; his face contorted in hellish ecstasy and he buried his nose in the screaming girl's hair, an evil smile touching his lips. Lola wept.

"I like you," he panted and kissed the back of her head. "If you're good, I'll let you fuck me again." He laughed darkly.

Rag's lips hovered inches from Lynn's, his fetid breath filling her mouth and turning her stomach. He went faster, mindless, animal grunts tearing from his throat with every thrust. Lynn bared her teeth and pulled, her left hand, then her right; she felt give, and both slid but just a little. Her heart thundered in her chest and her stomach ached with dread. She was so close...she could actually do it...if only she could GET HER FUCKING HAND OUT! Screaming, she yanked with all of her might; flesh tore, blood gushed...and the rope went slack.

It took her dumbstruck brain a moment to catch up and realize that her hands were free, then Lola screamed and the world seemed to shatter around her like a pane of glass. She opened her eyes, and Rag's face filled her vision, his eyes beady and cold, his lips drawn back from his crooked teeth in a mangy, dog-like smile. "How does it feel to be a woman now?" he grunted.

Sneering, Lynn balled her fist, rolled to one side, and brought it around, smashing it into his temple and catching him off guard. He grunted and toppled to the side, his dick pulling out and bursting, his hot, disgusting slime splattering Lynn's stomach. Adrenaline surged through her and she staggered to her feet, every joint and muscle in her body aching monstrously. Rag lay stunned in the leaves, and suddenly time itself slowed. Abby jerked a suspicious glance over her shoulder, and her eyes narrowed when she saw Lynn.

"Fucking bitch!" Rag yelled, and the world lurched back into drive. He started to get up, and Lynn ran, crashing headlong into the woods, her bare feet kicking through drifts of leaves and her arms pumping, quick, hot breaths exploding from her throat.

The back of her neck prickled, but she couldn't look back - had to keep focus, had to get away. Her father used to say that when she made up her mind to do something, she _did_ it come hell or high water.

And as she ran from that clearing in hell, she made up her mind to save her sisters.

And kill those sons of bitches who hurt them.


	4. Where It All Began

**Lyrics to** _ **Twisted Transistor**_ **by Korn (2005)**

Flagg propped himself up on one arm, his hand slipping in leaves, and threaded his fingers through Lola's hair. The little girl lay prone beneath him, her back rising and falling as she gasped for breath; she whimpered on every exhalation, and a slow, lazy smile crossed his face. Is there anything better than the melodic sound of a little girl's pain? If there was, he hadn't found it, and he'd been looking for a _long_ time.

Life, Flagg had learned, was a game, and what's the point of a game? To win maybe, but above even that?

To have fun.

The realization came to him when he was seventeen, and it was like a flash in the dark, a red, burning, mushroom shaped revelation spreading tendrils of light through the night, so intense you couldn't look directly at it or your eyes would melt in their sockets. Until then, he couldn't understand people - they crowed endlessly about such ethereal concepts as _love_ and _respect,_ but as far as he could tell, those things did not exist. He certainly didn't feel them; he loved no one, not even his parents, and he respected no one because why would he?

At first, he thought there was something wrong with him, that he was broken in some deep, fundamental way. Then it came to him: _None_ of them felt love. They held their hands to their chest and cried crocodile tears, uttered buzzwords like _well wishes_ and _thoughts & prayers, _but they lied. No one ultimately cares about anyone but themself, and those who claimed that they do made Flagg sick - he wished they all had one neck so he could wrap his hands around it and throttle them.

Life is a game, and to win the game, you gotta _play_ the game. He practiced his smile in the mirror until it shone, pretended to care about starving children in Africa and niggers in Compton, went to college, dated, worked a job, spent money, hell, he even voted (Clinton 2016, baby - _awww, she cares_ ).

But one day he had _another_ revelation.

He hated it. He hated his life and the people around him with white hot intensity. He hated TV sitcoms and pop music; he hated Oprah and Dr. Phil and Judge Judy; he hated superhero movies and those stupid video games where you fight Nazis (instead of joining them); he hated politics and religion and how everyone made such a _big deal_ about them; hated blacks and Asians and rednecks and emos; hated how suffocating his life was. He was like a mime trapped in an invisible box, and with each passing day, the air became a little less, and a little more stagnant. He was playing the game and he was on track to win - if he worked long, hard hours, he could retire at fifty-eight with several million in the bank and a whole heaping pile of _stuff_. A big house with dark, echoy halls; a shiney car to watch sit in the driveway; a wrinkled wife with collagen lips and a bad spending habit; a spoiled daughter who lounged around the pool in big, bug-eyed sunglasses during the day, then fucked the polo-shirt-and-sandal-wearing sons of lawyers and doctors at night - or white boys who looked like Riff Raff if she was rebellious.

That was winning?

He was sitting in the waiting room of his dentist, legs crossed and a _People_ magazine in front of his face when that final revelation dawned on him. Here he was, in for an annual cleaning (gotta have a bright smile for the boys in the office), dressed in gray slacks and a pink and white striped polo shirt, sitting next to some random woman he hated, looking at celebrities he hated, and listening to CNN (that he hated) on the wall-mounted TV - which he hated as well...hope you fall and break. He lived in a nice apartment overlooking the park, and he despised everything about it, from the way it smelled to how the sun fell through the front window in the afternoon. He hated his car, he hated his wardrobe, and deep down...he hated that he hated it. His life was filled with empty people who meant nothing, who _were_ nothing; they were little more than NPCs in a video game - soulless, mindless husks who served only to annoy or gratify him...and the vast majority did the former instead of the latter: The people he worked with, the women he picked up in bars and laid, the mailman with whom he shot the shit because hey, that's what _normal_ people do.

Only he wasn't normal.

He was _better_ , and that day at the dentist, he decided that he was sick of pretending that he wasn't. He didn't know how, but he would break out of the chains binding him and rise like a blood-thirsty Phoenix from the ashes.

Two nights later, he was cutting across the park on his way home from dinner when he came across a black man crumpled at the bottom of a wide stone staircase leading up to the street. A lamp cast cold white brilliance on the scene, and a pigeon watched from its perch on an empty bench, its eyes dumb and dull. Flagg shuffled to a stop when he saw the figure, then came tentatively forward when he moaned, the smell of booze and sweat pinching his nose. The man's eyelids fluttered and blood oozed from his temple - Flagg glanced up the staircase and made out a trail of dark spots. If he had to guess, he'd say the guy got drunk and fell.

He started to bend, perhaps to lay his hand on the man's shoulder and ask if he was okay (or maybe to kiss his boo boo), but stopped. That's what a normal person would do.

What would _Flagg_ do?

An idea came to him, and instead of reigning it in like a cuck, he gave in, drew back his foot, and kicked the man in the side of the head, knocking it against the bottom step with a sickening _crack_. The man moaned in pain and began to convulse like a dead frog on a car battery. Energy, like lifeblood, coursed through Flagg's veins, and he did it again, a giddy laugh bursting from his throat. He did it again, and again, and again, his fists balling and his breathing coming in quick gasps. He only stopped when he realized the man's skull was caved in and oozing chunky red blood clogged with brain matter. Realizing what he'd done, he ran the rest of the way home, and when he got through his front door, he was shaking with exhilaration.

For the first time in his life, he felt truly _alive_.

And in that moment, he knew it was only a matter of time before he did it again.

Killing someone is the ultimate way to liberate oneself, Flagg discovered - with the greatest moral transgression out of the way, everything else fell neatly into place, especially the dark desire that had always been with him, the one he locked deep in himself because it was _wrong_ and _disgusting_. Once upon a time, he would struggle to ignore the front window on a Saturday or Sunday, but after stomping a man to death, sitting in front of it and watching the children in the park didn't seem so bad. Staring intently at the little girls in their pretty pink dresses, skipping rope and eating ice cream was nothing, and soon, neither was leaving the apartment and walking among them like a dark Christ among sheep. Before, he would avert his eyes and keep his head down, his throat tight, stomach knotted; now he stared, and allowed fantasies to spread through his mind like cancer, fantasies that he once lived only in dreams, but now cherished in the day.

How would it feel to actually have one? To smell her hair and pull her panties down her legs? To see the terror in her eyes, to hear her pleas for mercy, to slam himself into her, breaking her hymen _and_ her innocence? He wanted to find out. Badly. He had to be careful, though - they might not care about a wino, but they would care about a little girl...a sweet, precious, soft, warm little girl...oh, they'd care a _lot_.

Six weeks later, he snatched a brunette from a mall parking lot - she wore a blue dress that barely reached her knees and rippled around her legs in the summer breeze. There were ribbons in her hair and bracelets on her slender wrists. Flagg knew the moment he saw her that he had to have her, and when no one was looking, he dragged her into his car and took off. He learned a lot about her over the next three days, and a lot about himself too. Her name was Amanda and she was twelve - she also cried during sex, which turned Flagg on to no end. That first day together, he threw her onto his bed and unwrapped her like a present, his hands moving appreciatively over every square inch of her young body - her breasts were small, her nipples like cherry blossoms, and squeezing into her came difficult - but was so rewarding, especially when her blood started to flow and greased the way.

Like he imagined, she was warm and soft - her throat was like velvet as he strangled her to death, and her soft whimpers like the sweetest music. He thought back to it every night as he lay in bed and masturbated; he longed to do it again, but the abduction was big news and the city was on its toes - the police had the make and model of his car, but not the color. The moron who told thought it was silver, but it was actually gray - hahahahahaha. Idiot.

The dark urges wouldn't give him respite, though; they consumed him, nesting in her brain and chest like death. He couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't even _think_. He needed another - she didn't even have to be young...she only had to die.

Two months after Amanda, he was on his way back into the city from visiting his parents in his hometown (pathetic, ugly little place) when he passed a woman hitchhiking down the side of the road, her tight jeans covered in dust, her short blonde hair messy, and her black tank top hanging on her thin frame. His darkness grew, and he decided then that he was going to kill her.

He picked her up and turned on the charm as high as it would go - she was guarded, shifty-eyed, and uncomfortable, and when she got in, she looked around the car as if appraising it, and finding it impressive. From the way she spoke and bore herself, Flagg judged her to be white trash. There was something about her eyes, though, something captivating, something...appealing.

She said her name was Sadie and she was " _Getting the hell away from my family."_ Flagg offered to let her stay with him - promising to be _a perfect gentleman._ She agreed because of course she did, white trash girls are just that easy.

 _Nice place,_ she said when they got to his apartment. She looked around with a nod like an art snob in a museum. Flagg made them both a drink at the bar and handed her one. _Eh, it's not much,_ he said. It was, but downplaying it suggested he was used to bigger and better things, and that would help him get her into bed. _He's rich,_ she'd think, _let me spread my legs._

 _I like it,_ she said.

Feeling bold, he put his hands on her hips...and she melted back into him, her butt brushing his crotch. _You haven't seen the best part,_ he said and kissed her neck - her scent filled his nose, and it was strangely comforting, enticing.

 _Yeah?_ She asked. _Why don't you show me, Mr. Ritz?_

They wound up in the bedroom, their hands all over each other and their tongues locked in a savage grapple for dominance. Flagg threw her onto the bed and mounted her - he was hard, but not for her...for the promise of choking her to death.

As his climax neared, he wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed: Her eyes widened, then narrowed to dangerous slit. Before he knew what was happening, she was battering his face with quick, hard punches; his nose burst and one of his teeth was knocked literally down his throat. Flashing, he slapped her across the face. "Fucking bitch!"

She responded by driving her knee into his soft testcles; hot pain ballooned in his stomach, and he was thrown off balance long enough for her to knock him over and straddle him, her bare breasts jiggling and her eyes burning with dark delight. She grabbed his wrists, pinned them to the bed, and arched her back, her lips hovering over his, her breath filling his mouth like ambrosia. Flagg could only gape up at her, too shocked to move, his dick throbbing when he recognized the cold, flat _evil_ in her eyes.

He saw the same thing every time looked in the mirror.

"You gotta try harder than that, mister," she purred and skimmed her lips slowly over his. She shifted her hip and sank herself onto him, her gaze never wavering from his. She laughed at his expression and flicked his bottom lip with her tongue. "Not used to 'em fighting back, huh?" she asked, lifted herself, then sank again. Flagg gasped at the sensation of her wet body stroking him. "Not used to them...liking it." A devious smirk touched her lips, and that was it; Flagg ripped away from her grip, slipped his hand into her hair, and rolled her onto her back, his dick slamming deep and knocking a firm giggle from her throat. "You gonna hit me again?" she taunted. "Make it hurt this time."

He closed his fist and crashed it into the side of her face; her walls tightened around him and they both moaned. She laughed, wrapped her legs around his waist, and dug her heels into his butt. "Daddy wasn't lying, they _are_ weak in the city."

He punched her again, and again she laughed. "I said punch me, not kiss me."

She grinned up at him, and he balled his fist - when he realized he _cared_ what she thought, that he actually wanted to _impress_ her, he knew.

He was in love.

"Come on, tough guy," she laughed, then batted her eyelashes. "I'm just a widdle gurl. You can't hurt me?" She stuck her bottom lip out, and Flagg punched her in the mouth; her lips split and blood flowed. She considered him for a moment, her teeth and lips covered in red, then she tilted her head to one side. "Alright, that kinda hurt."

He broke and kissed her deeply, a mix of their blood and saliva swishing between their mouths like a demonic pact; she raked her nails up and down his back, tearing his skin, and Flagg learned something else about himself that night. Sometimes, being hurt felt just as good as hurting someone else.

Afterward, they laid side-by-side, staring at the ceiling and panting for air. At one point, she swatted his chest with the back of her hand. _I was gonna rob you...and probably kill you in your sleep._ She laughed merrily, and he laughed too, because it _was_ funny. _I'm Abby, by the way._

 _I thought your name was Sadie,_ Flagg said and raised his brow.

 _I lied,_ she chirruped, _and you bought it. Pfft._

He may have swallowed her lie, but he was 100 percent right about her being white trash: She grew up in a trailer in the woods with three sisters, one older and two younger, and a drunk father who abused them - she never said _how_ he abused them, but Flagg could guess. _What are your sisters like?_ Flagg asked one day.

 _Shit,_ she replied and laughed.

 _I'd like to meet them._

Three weeks later, they drove to the single wide where Abby grew up, broke in through a side window, and worked their way through the house, starting with her youngest sister Becky (thirteen and _umf_ ) and ending with her father; Abby carved him to pieces. Even Flagg winced when she crushed his balls in her hand. When everyone was dead, they splashed the walls, furniture, and bodies with gas then lit a match - the firelight in Abby's eyes was the most beautiful thing Flagg had ever seen, and the smile on her face _almost_ made him feel something in his heart.

Almost.

Fire, Flagg believed, purifies, but the fire at the trailer didn't purify enough. By the end of the month, the police knew that the same person was responsible for the murder of Amanda Harris and the Script family and were seeking Abby for "questioning." Things were getting hot in the city, in other words, and Flagg didn't like it. In December, he and Abby packed their shit and left, heading west on an aimless journey through the heartland. They knocked over a liquor store in Indiana and robbed an old couple in Iowa - not because they had to, but because, come on, doesn't that sound fun? Tying the old people up and beating them to death with a hammer sure was, and so was fucking on their bed inches from their corpses.

On the road, they were a modern day Bonnie and Clyde, tearing across the country like a buzzsaw - Flagg couldn't say how many people they killed in those two years. Maybe a dozen, maybe two. You'd be surprised how easy it is to get away with murder in America, especially when you don't stay in one place. Dahmer and Gacy were homebodies and they got caught, a thousand others? You don't even know they exist - they kill someone here, someone there, across state lines, in far-flung jurisdictions, and the cops never put two and two together. You have to change your methods too; if you hack people up with an ax every single time, they might catch on, but if you choke one, shoot another, and entirely disappear a third, well...that's how you stay ahead. It's so fucking simple, how people ever got pinched was beyond Flagg.

Then again, he was smarter than everyone else, so of course it was easy for him.

Two years after leaving the city, they crash landed in a small town on the northern California coast called Santa Carla, the kind of place you see on TV - bluffs, rocky shores, epic, gnarly surf, dude. Their current car, a battered blue Olds Cutlass they stole from a strip mall parking lot in Stockdale, broke down on a mountain road, and they were forced to leave it and walk into town. They used the last of the money for a motel room and started plotting their next move - a full blown bank robbery. Now _that_ sounded like a good time. There was a bank in town wedged between a hotel and a cafe - small, sleepy, unaware - and Flagg figured it'd be easy. They needed time to work out the details, though; going off halfcocked is how you wind up in prison, and Flagg didn't plan on going to prison.

 _We have to blend in,_ he told Abby that first night, a cigarette jutting from is lips, _just for a little while._

That meant they needed a source of money that _didn't_ involve stealing.

The next day, Flagg walked the streets looking for HELP WANTED signs, finally finding one in the window of a diner on the edge of Main Street. The owner, a fat old woman with blue hair, needed a dishwasher and would start him at minimum wage (cue _We're In The Money_ ). Sure, he said, he could wash dishes.

Being a tiny hole-in-the-wall that even Guy Fieri wouldn't touch, the place's kitchen staff totalled three people counting Flagg - an old guy named Don and a teenager with messy black hair named Rag. Flagg didn't get the job to socialize, but Rag apparently got it into his head that Flagg was his best friend - always talking to him, distracting him, asking him questions. _I sell art on the side,_ Rag told him once. Oh. Nice. Great. Glad to hear it.

For nearly a month Rag asked him to hang out after work. _Have a couple drinks, hang out, you seem like a really cool guy._ Flagg thought he was a homo, but finally said yes just to shut him up.

The town bar was a stinky, drippy place that may have passed as a honkey tonk if it wasn't so fucking dead - there were five people in there beside Rag, Flagg, and Abby, and one of them was the bartender.

Part of Flagg's philosophy has always been sobriety - he liked to be clear-headed and in control. Not Rag - an hour after they got there he was drunk as a skunk, giggling and talking a mile a minute. At one point he nodded toward the end of the bar, where a woman with black hair and green eyes sat clutching a fruity umbrella drink because she couldn't shoot whiskey. _I'd hate fuck her 'til my peepee fell off_.

 _Go do it then._

Rag hesitated. _Alright._ He got up and swayed over, holding onto the bar for balance. Flagg watched him with mild interest. Kid had something to prove, and from the way he acted, Flagg gathered he had daddy issues. Poppa didn't hug him enough or something and now he was subconsciously desperate for a father figure - and because of Flagg's magnetic personality, he chose him. _I'll be the best little son,_ his beady black eyes said, _eager to please...just love me._

That made him the perfect tool.

Leaning against the bar, Rag introduced himself, and the woman's disinterest was almost painful; she turned her head away and played with her hair as she responded in monosyllables. Rag didn't take the hint and kept talking...and talking...and talking, until she finally gave him the "I have a boyfriend" line. Pfft. Sure you do, honey.

When Rag came back over, Flagg made his decision.

He was going to mold the boy...in his own image.

 _Shot down in flames,_ Flagg said with a dark laugh and took a drink.

Rag shrugged. _Eh, she's a cunt anyway._

 _She punked your ass,_ Flagg said, _made you look like a fool._ He threw back his head and laughed, watching Rag's face darken from the corner of his eye.

 _Fuck her,_ Rag said.

 _You just gonna take it, though?_ Flagg asked. _Like a cuck?_

Rag smiled, but there was no warmth in it. _I can get better than her any time I want._

 _Can you? You wanted her and she slapped you down._ Flagg leaned into the boy's ear. _Like an annoying fly._

 _I don't want her,_ Rag said, and the lie was clear as day on his face.

 _I think you do,_ Flagg said, _so why not take her? Man up and stop being a pussy._

Rag pressed his tongue against the inside of his bottom lip and cast a thoughtful gaze at the end of the bar as if considering Flagg's words. _It'll be fun,_ Flagg said, _we can tag team her. Give her a night to remember._

Nodding slowly, Rag grinned. He never got to play catch with his old man, Flagg surmised, and this was the next best thing. _Alright. If you're serious._

 _I am._

Later, when the woman left, Flagg and Rag followed her, Rag giving Abby the keys to his Dodge Neon. At her car, she started to unlock the door, and that's when Rag struck. _Excuse me, Miss?_

She turned and, to Flagg's surprise, Rag punched her dead in the face...hard, too; knocked her clean out. Flagg figured the boy was eager but not like _that_. Abby brought the car around and Flagg helped Rag throw their victim in.

At Rag's place, a bungalow on the beach, they threw her onto the living room floor while Abby sat in an armchair and lit a cigarette. _Go on,_ Flagg said and perched on the edge of the coffee table, _show me what you got._

Rag hesitated and seemed to have second thoughts, a battle of good vs evil raging in his eyes. When a sharp grin carved across his face, Flagg knew which side had won. The woman muttered and started to strr; Rag popped his shirt off and tossed it aside. _There's beer and snacks in the kitchen,_ he said. _We'll make a party of it._

While Abby fetched the refreshments, Rag went over to a stereo against the wall. _What'cha like for music, Flagg-O?_ He asked.

 _Something loud,_ Flagg said and looked at the woman; she was coming awake. _To cover the screams._

Rag grinned. _Got'cha._ He opened a CD jewel case, took out the disc, and popped it into the player. Heavy, ominous rock blasted from the speakers, and Rag cranked it all the way up, turning and clapping his hands, his feet shuffling like a cowboy at a hoedown.

 _Hey you, hey you, devil's little sister_

 _Listening to your twisted transistor_

 _Hold it between your legs_

 _Turn it up, turn it up_

 _The wind is coming through_

 _Can't get enough_

The woman pushed herself to her hands and knees as Rag danced over, his hips swaying to the music and his elbows nudging thin air. Abby came in with a case of Natty Ice and a bag of pretzels; she dropped into the chair, opened the bag, and reached in while Flagg cracked a beer.

Shaking in fear, the woman looked up at Rag. _Howdy, honey,_ he said, and kicked her in the stomach; Flagg laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks. Rag looked up at him with hopeful eyes. _Did I do a good job, Daddy?_

 _A lonely life where no one understands you_

 _But don't give up because the music do_

 _Music do music do_

 _Music do music do_

Clapping his hands, Rag undid his belt and pulled down his pants, his not inconsiderable erection popping out. He stepped out of them, kicked them away, then threw his hands up and swiveled his hips with a flourish. The woman screamed and Rag laughed. _Let's dance!_

Perched on the arm of the chair now, Flagg reached into the bag and grabbed a handful of pretzels, his eyes never leaving the macabre scene before him; on his knees now, Rag yanked the woman's underwear down and hiked up her dress. She tried to crawl away, but Rag flashed and punched her between the shoulder blades.

 _Because the music do_

 _And then it its reaching_

 _Inside you forever preaching_

 _Fuck you too_

 _Your screams will whisper_

 _Hang on you_

 _Twisted transistor_

The woman screamed bloody murder when Rag thrusted into her. _Oh, shut up,_ Abby said through a mouthful of food, _he's not_ that _big._ Rag threaded his fingers through her hair, pulled her head back, and slammed into her, establishing a furious pace; his eyes shone with malevolence and his lips peeled back from his teeth in a sneer. _Did you turn the lights off before we left?_ Flagg suddenly asked and turned to Abby.

She shrugged. _Probably. I don't know. Why do you care? We don't pay electric._

 _I don't like it when people forget things,_ Flagg said and lit a cigarette, _that's all_.

Abby rolled her eyes.

 _Hey you, hey you, finally you get it  
The world it can eat you if you let it  
And as your tears fall on  
Your dress, your dress  
But when she's coming through  
You're in a mess  
A lonely life where no one understands you_

Rag slammed the woman's face against the floor and gave one final drive before shaking and grunting with his orgasm. The woman shook and wept into the carpet. Panting, Rag looked up at Flagg, and Flagg nodded. _Good job._ He reached into his coat, pulled out a switch blade, and tossed it onto the floor in front of Rag. _Now kill her._

Rag's smile fell a little, and beneath him, the woman thrashed violently, a horrified scream rising from her throat. Rag flicked his eyes to the knife and then to Flagg as if for guidance. _Go on,_ Flagg nodded.

 _No! Please, God, no!_ The woman screamed.

Reaching tentatively out, Rag picked up the knife and looked at it as though he'd never seen one before.

With a shrug, he committed entirely - he pulled out the blade, yanked the woman's hair, and jerked the steel across her throat. Blood gushed out onto the floor in a wave, and she gurgled wetly, her hands creeping to her runed neck. Rag threw the knife away and got to his feet, frowning not at the woman flopping and dying on the floor but at the mess. _Man, that shit's never gonna come out._

 _Club soda,_ Abby said and lit a cigarette.

 _That stuff really works?_ Rag asked with an incredulous squint.

She nodded. _Umhm. How do you think I clean Mr. Bloodbath's clothes?_ She looked at Flagg and playfully stuck out her tongue.

Rag put his hands on his hips, looked down at the rapidly dwindling woman, and hummed. _Do they sell it at the grocery store?_

 _No, they sell it from the back of a van by the river,_ Abby said sarcastically.

Rag hummed again - the woman was still, her lifeblood soaked into the carpet in a wide, spreading pool. He looked from Flagg to Abby and back again. _You guys wanna order a pizza?_

Two weeks later, they robbed the bank.

 _You're overthinking it,_ Rag said one day as they plotted in his living room - Flagg and Abby had been staying with him since the night they murdered the woman (Julia Collingwood her name was, or so the papers said). _We go in, point a gun at the teller, and BOOM, we're outta this stupid town in_ style.

 _No, you're_ under thinking _it,_ Flagg said. _You know what happens when you act like a loose cannon?_

Rag grinned. _The chief will have your badge for breakfast?_

 _You go to jail,_ Flagg said without a trace of humor. _And in jail, they_ love _little boys like you. They won't just rape you, they'll treat you like a woman. Kiss your neck, squeeze your butt - the works._

Loose cannon, Flagg soon found, was an apt description of Raganoxer. Newly converted Christians are infamous for bursting with the good news and wanting to share it; a newly liberated deviant is the same way, only their news isn't as "good." The robbery was going smooth - Abby waited in the car, engine running, and Rag held everyone at gunpoint while Flagg collected the money. Then, just for the hell of it, Rag shot the security guard in the back of the head. _Oops_ he said in a guilty singsong voice, _my finger slipped._

Two nights later, they were trying to check into a motel just across the state line in Nevada, but the fat asshole behind the counter claimed all of the empty rooms were _reserved_. Flagg would have let him live because come on, killing everyone who annoys you is a fucking mistake, but Rag thought differently. He reached across the counter, grabbed the guy by the front of his shirt, and stuck him with a knife.

 _You need to be more goddamn careful,_ Flagg chastised him in the car. Rag hung his head in shame and stared at his feet. _Sorry, Flagg. I-I get carried away sometimes._

He continued to, and several times Flagg seriously considered shooting him in the head and dumping him on the road as a liability, but never did; in a way, he was fond of the boy. He'd throw him under the bus the first chance he got, of course, but he hadn't fucked up _that_ bad.

Until that day in the clearing...

* * *

 _Bright yellow illumination bathed Lori's eyelids, making her wince. She stirred and muttered something that she herself couldn't understand - the thought, like the words, came as tired mush. She squeezed her eyes tighter and sought the deep recesses of sleep, but the soft rustle of fabric, like the swish of a phantom passing in the night, drew her back, pulling her up from the depths and into the light. Creaking one bleary eye open, she scanned the semi-darkness for what she didn't know. The door to the hall stood open, amber brilliance falling across the threshold and reaching the foot of the bed before tapering off. The bedside clock swam into focus, the red smear resolving slowly, like a Polaroid picture. 3:15._

 _She caught a flash of movement in the shadows and her heart clutched, then she relaxed when she saw the little girl standing at her bedside, shoulders slack, face long. "Lola?" she muttered and pushed herself up. Her eyes ached and a hot coal of pain burned in her left temple. She got home late from work and didn't fall asleep until after one. At six, she had to be up for her day job as at the bank; sleep for her was a precious commodity, one that she did not like infringed upon, and her first instinct was to snap. The simmering hurt in Lola's eyes stopped her, however. "What's wrong?" she asked._

 _Lola glanced ashamedly down at her feet. "I-I had a nightmare," she said._

 _In an instant, Lori understood. Lola was nine, and as such, considered herself too mature for being afraid. She would rather lie awake in her bed, filled with holy terror, than to come to Lori...except when she dreamed about the accident._

 _Sighing, Lori stretched out on her side and motioned for Lola to join her. "Come on," she said._

 _Lola hesitated, perhaps not wanting to seem too desperate, then climbed in, turning to face the wall and nestling against her chest like a small, frightened animal seeking protection from its master. Lori wrapped one arm around Lola's tiny body and drew her closer, her breasts smooshing against the little girl's back and Lola's freshly washed hair filling her nose. She searched for Lola's hand, found it, and twinned their fingers. Lola squeezed weakly as if in thanks._

" _Do you want to talk about it?" Lori asked lowly._

 _Tensing, Lola shook her head. "No," her voice was small, fragile, reminding Lori's sleep-addled brain of a baby duckling._

" _Are you sure?" Lori pressed and ran her fingers gently through her sister's hair._

" _Yes," Lola said decidedly._

 _Lori sucked her lips into her mouth in a brooding expression and brushed her thumb across Lola's knuckles. Even after all this time, losing Mom and Dad, and Lana, and everyone else bothered Lola, and Lori had no idea how to broach the subject with her. When she tried, Lola got defensive and told her to go away, and she invariably did even though, deep down, she felt like she should keep going. She wanted Lola to open up, but she didn't know if that was best. This whole parenting thing was still new to her, and no matter what she did, she worried it was wrong. Lola and Lynn both relied on her, and some days, especially as she sat at the kitchen table of their cramped two bedroom apartment with bills she didn't know how she was going to pay fanned out in front of her, she felt like she was letting them down._

 _There were times the pressure overwhelmed her and she broke down crying - always sequestered in a private place so they wouldn't see. Last month, Lori's fifth-hand Dodge, bought from a junk shop for 500 dollars, broke down and she had to choose between fixing it or buying groceries: She'd been walking back and forth ever since, in the rain more often than not it seemed. Though she hated herself for it, she occasionally found herself wishing her sisters weren't around, that she was free and could live her life. She imagined Mom and Dad looking down at her from heaven when she thought that way, and the shame was so great it made her cry even harder than the stress._

 _She loved Lynn and Lola and when she made the decision to raise them, she meant it - they were all she had in the world and she all_ they _had. Stress or not, she would do her best for them no matter what. She wasn't half the woman Mom was, but with every breath, she would try. Day in, day out, for as long as she lived, she would love, protect, and provide for them._

 _Lola's breathing evened out, and Lori was just beginning to think she'd fallen asleep when she spoke. "I really miss them." There was a plaintive inflection in her voice that cut Lori's heart like a knife._

 _All she could do was hold her tight. "I know, honey," she said, hating how out of place the last word felt and sounded but wanting to say it anyway because it's what a Mom was supposed to say. "I do too." And she did, so keenly it was like being gutted. When the accident happened, she was seventeen, still in school and head over heels in puppy love with Bobby Santiago. She hadn't given much thought to her future, but she always assumed Mom would be there when she needed advice or support; even if they weren't in the same place, or even the same half of the country, Mom would always be just a phone call away, her presence as comforting and far-reaching as the presence of God to a Christian. Not having her...not having anyone...made her feel like a little girl lost in a vast, choppy sea with nothing to keep her afloat but a single life preserver riddled with dry rot and sinking fast. In that moment, she missed her father and her sisters and Lincoln with such intensity that she could scarcely breathe. She would give anything to have them back, even if just long enough to hug each one and tell them goodbye._

 _Hot, stinging tears welled in her eyes and she blinked them away._

" _Are they in heaven?" Lola asked earnestly._

" _Yes," Lori said instantly. She was raised to believe in God, Christ, and the Devil, but somewhere along the way, even before the accident, her faith lapsed. She liked to believe that they were,_ wanted _to believe that they were, but she was not sure. Lola needed to believe, though, and Lori desperately wanted her to always believe Mom and Dad still existed, still watched over and loved her...because Lori knew that she would never be enough, never be what Lola and Lynn deserved._

 _Taking a deep breath, Lola began to speak, her tone lowering and her voice wavering with emotion. "In my dream, I was sitting in the backyard playing, looking down at my hands. Someone came up and stood over me. It was...it was Lana and she looked like she did after the accident."_

 _Lola and Lana were sitting side-by-side when the crash happened. A hot piece of metal from the Jeep's engine block smashed through the window, decapitated Lincoln, and hit Lana in the face. Lori didn't see her afterwards, but Lola did, and from what she said, her twin's flesh was blistered and melted, nose missing, eyes popped and seeping down her cheeks in white rivers. Lola trembled violently at the memory of her nightmare, and Lori rested her forehead against Lola as if to transfer her strength. "She said she really missed me and...asked where her toys were. I told her we threw them away and she started crying."_

 _Lola broke down then, a strangled sob escaping her throat and a body-wide shudder tearing through her frame. Lori's own tears over spilled her cheeks and she opened her mouth, to say what she couldn't fathom, but didn't trust herself to speak, so she simply squeezed Lola tighter and peppered tender kisses across the back of her head. Mom would know what to say and have the strength to say it, but Lola didn't have Mom, she had her, and Lori was not their mother._

 _She was inferior._

 _Gradually, Lola's soft weeping tapered off into whimpers, and Lori swallowed around a lump of emotion in her throat. God, what could she say to that?_ Lana doesn't need toys where she is? Don't worry about Lana? _She wracked her brain but came up empty-handed. She had to say something, though. "Lana's with God," she finally managed, picking her way cautiously along like a woman navigating a narrow, ice-slicked ledge. "And she's happy. Because in heaven, no one is sad." She squeezed Lola's hand and pressed her lips to her ear. "She wants you to be happy too. She doesn't want you to think about that."_

 _Lola sniffed wetly. "I know," she said. "I try not to."_

" _It happens," Lori said, "trying's all you_ can _do."_

 _After that, they fell into silence, and the exhaustion of the day came back to Lori, pushing her down into the depths once more. "Lori?" Lola asked._

" _Yeah?" Lori slurred._

" _I love you."_

 _A weary smile spread across Lori's lips like the rising of the sun. "I love you too," she said and hugged her little sister. "Now go to sleep."_

" _Okay," Lola said and snuggled closer._

 _The last thought that went through Lori's mind before she drifted peacefully off was_ : I'll always love you and I'll always protect you. I promise.

 _With that, she fell asleep, and so too did her little sister._


	5. Life and Death

Flagg kissed the back of Lola's head and pulled slowly out of her, his eyes rolling at the sensation of his sensitive dick scraping against her walls. White cum welled from her chafed and battered pussy, and Flagg smiled at his handiwork. He wasn't lying when he said he liked Lola - and he might very well keep her like he promised. It never hurts to have some good on tap, you know.

Lynn screamed in primal fury, her voice filling the woods like thunder, and Rag gasped. He was surprised the boy hadn't choked her to death yet - he liked strangulation more than Flagg did.

"Fucking bitch!" Rag yelled. Flagg glanced over his shoulder, and his smirk dropped when he saw Lynn standing and Rag on the ground. Her face was drawn and her wide eyes, harried. Twigs and leaves stuck in her thick hair, and she was naked from the waist down, her pale skin streaked with dirt and dried blood.

Abby started to get up, and Lynn took off with surprising speed. Flagg's heart dropped, and like a shot he was on his feet; his pants fell to his ankles and tangled, tripping him, his chin slamming the ground and his teeth rattling. Rag jumped up just as Abby ran past, a broken knife in her hand. Flagg caught a flash of Lynn through the trees, then she was gone.

Pushing to his feet with a sneer, he pulled up his pants and buckled them with strained patience, the initial panic calming. It was okay. They were in the middle of nowhere. She couldn't go far. He reached into his pocket, took out his .357, and stalked over to where Rag stood as if in shock. Flashing, Flagg slapped him across the back of the head; he jerked, and his cap fell off. "You dumb bastard," Flagg spat.

"I-I-I'm sorry, I-I don't know what happened, I-"

Brushing past him, Flagg went into the woods and spotted Abby far ahead. Part of him said let her deal with it, but she was slow. He cocked an undecided glance over his shoulder, sweeping the clearing and finding Lori and Lola, both still prone on the ground, then made up his mind. Cocking the gun, he hurried into the forest. "Come on," he called over his shoulder. Rag jumped, looked around, and snatched his CZ75 off the ground.

* * *

Lynn crashed headlong through the forest, her breaths coming in quick, hot gasps and every muscle in her body screaming in weary protest. She threw a stricken glance over her shoulder, and her heart blasted against her ribs - Abby was less than thirty feet back and gaining fast, her brow dark and her eyes pooled black with death; her lips were twisted in a sly smile and she held a knife in one claw-like hand. Behind her, Flagg and Rag appeared in the distance, screened behind interlaced branches. Lynn turned away and pounded faster, her bare feet barely touching the ground and her arms pumping like two overloading pistons. Her mind was completely void of anything but one screaming command flashing in her skull like a neon sign: RUN, RUN, RUN, RUN, RUN.

"You can't hide, bitch!" Abby called, her voice close, too close. Lynn spared a glance, and the woman had closed almost half the distance between them. Horror burst in her, and even through the haze of pain and fear she knew that soon, in a minute, maybe less, Abby would be on top of her like a banshee - all teeth, nails, and shrieking doom. Lynn gritted her teeth and pushed herself harder, but it wasn't enough; her body was wracked with agony, especially her ass and privates - she was like a linebacker who'd been beaten and knocked into the turf for four quarters, and Abby was a new addition, last-minute-fresh-as-a-daisy.

She couldn't make it. She was going to be run down and killed like a dog.

A scream of frustration rose from Lynn's throat and she looked around for salvation, but didn't see any.

She _did_ , however, see a rock ahead, lying on the leaves like a sign from on high. Without even thinking, she came to a crashing halt, snatched it up, and spun. Abby was ten feet, so close she could almost smell the woman's fetid breath. Calling on every throw she'd ever made in every sport she'd ever played, she pulled back her arm and lashed it forward - the rock left her hand like a bullet, and for a moment Lynn watched it tumble end over end in slow motion...then it struck Abby in the forehead and knocked her off her feet with a pained cry.

Lynn was running again before she even realized it, the primal instinct to survive overriding everything else. Ahead, a tree lay in her path and she leapt over it without even thinking, her body reacting on autopilot, a battered though well-oiled machine. Football and baseball are both like learning to ride a bike - you never forget them, the plays, moves, and tactics, offensive _and_ defensive, are burned forever into you like an imprint on a cushion.

She imagined she was back on the field at Royal Woods Middle, practicing in warm September sunshine for the game on Friday. There was only the pressure she put on herself, the pressure to win...if she didn't, it wasn't a big deal.

Her life wasn't riding on it, and neither were her sisters. If she allowed the enormity of her task, and the hopelessness of her situation, to creep in, she'd freeze up, and if she froze up, she, Lori, and Lola would lose _big_.

So, shoving all of that aside, she focused on regulating her breathing and _ran_ , ignoring the pain, the fear, throwing caution to the wind and ducking her head to cut down on wind resistance. Branches snagged and pulled her hair, bringing tears to her eyes and ripping strands from her scalp, but she didn't slacken her pace. Lori was counting on her, Lola was counting on her, she just needed time to think, to plan. There were three of them and only one of her - she could do it, she just needed to strategize.

 _The best offense is a good plan,_ her brother once told her. He was always thinking ahead, always plotting, always coming up with something, contriving to hide cans of soda in the fridge or win awards, kid stuff, not life and death. They called him _the man with a plan_ but his plans almost always blew up in his face. Heh-heh-heh. She couldn't let this one blow up, no, no, no, she had to go, had to think, had to do it right cuz there was only one shot and no one was around to help - just her, only her, nothing else, one girl, three psychos, the odds were stacked, the bases were loaded, she needed wits and brawn, wits, run, foot in front of foot, flying over the ground, crunching leaves, tearing her soles to ribbons. More blood. How much had she bled today? She didn't know, didn't care, had to run, hurry, hurry, blood roaring in her ears, breath heavy, hungry like the wolf.

She kicked a rock and pain shot up her leg; her balance spoiled and her feet flew out from under her; for a horrible moment she was airborne, then she face planted in the dirt, her teeth coming down hard enough on her bottom lip to draw blood. She was up again so fast her head spun and she fell a second time, landing hard on her knees. Only then did she realize she was hyperventilating; broken whimpers found her ears, and it took her a moment to figure out where they were coming from.

Her own throat.

Jerking a frenzied glance around, her eyes wide and pooled with a terror she was too numb to actually feel, she pushed to her feet and started running again; her feet were raw and throbbed, and every time one slapped the ground she winced in pain, but she ignored it, had to, couldn't dwell, dwelling is death, running is life, keep running, keep living, save Lori, save Lola, save the rest, run around the world like Superman till time turns back.

Fallen log. She jumped. Legs like springs. Landed in the dust, pitched forward, top heavy, almost tripped, didn't, stumbled, and threw a frightened glance over her shoulder. She didn't see them, didn't hear them, but they could be anywhere, everywhere, omnipotent, God, in all the shadows, behind each tree. Panic. Paranoia. Can't dwell, gotta run, gotta save her sisters. He raped Lola - the sounds of her high, agonized screams rang in Lynn's ears and she could see her face pinched in pain, eyes filled with terror and hopelessness, dead, cold, flat, her lips parted, slack as she took it.

Lynn burst into tears.

She couldn't protect her - the one thing a big sister was supposed to do and she couldn't.

Running, falling, getting back up, the world blurred and spinning, pain, pain, pain.

Hate. Hate. Hate.

She was going to get them. Some way.

Somehow.

Even if it killed her.

* * *

When they caught up to Abby, she was leaning woozily against a tree, her hand pressed to her forehead and blood oozing through her fingers. Flagg's heart sank...not because he was worried about her, but because _she let the bitch get away!_ In an instant, something like panic rose in his stomach, and his grip reflexively tightened on the .357's handle. Rag went over and reached for her shoulder, but she shoved him back with her free hand, and he nearly fell onto his ass. "Bitch threw a rock at me," she hissed. Flagg looked into the distance, but didn't see Lynn.

Shit.

This was not good.

They might be in the middle of the woods, but he didn't like having her out of sight. He strained to listen, and detected the telltale sound of crunching leaves. He couldn't judge exactly where they were coming from, but they weren't far.

Flashing, he grabbed Rag by the arm and shoved him. "Go get her," he hissed. "Stupid bastard, you made this mess, goddamn idiot, mindless fucking dolt." He took a menacing step forward, his ironclad self-control momentarily slipping, and Rag fell back, the color draining from his face and his hands going defensively up.

"GO!" he roared, and Rag rushed off, wind flowing through his messy black hair and the barrel of the gun pointing at the sky. Turning back to Abby, he raked his fingers through his hair, felt a leaf, snatched it out, and crumbled it in his palm, savagely imagining it was Lynn's head. He _knew_ from the moment he laid eyes on her that she was trouble - he could read people like fucking books, and Lynn Loud had _HEADACHE_ written all over her. He wanted to blow her away and leave her carcass with the van, but no, Rag had _a thing_ for breaking tough girls. Made him feel like a man or some retarded goddamn thing. Well, here you go, Rag, hope you're fucking happy with yourself.

He took a deep, shivering breath and parked his hands on his hips, his head tilting back and his nostrils flaring. It was okay. Things would be fine. This was just a little...hiccup, that was all. He'd had them before and every single time, he almost lost his mind because he didn't _like_ hiccups. Hiccups are how the police get you. They never find a bad guy through good detective work, they always stumble ass backwards into him because his tail light was flickering or he ran a stop sign. It's always the little things, the things that don't seem like they matter but fucking do.

Things like letting a half-naked girl get loose and flag down a passing car.

That wasn't going to happen, though.

Going over to Abby, he pulled her hand away from her forehead and glanced at the wound - it was deep and jagged, but probably not life threatening. _That_ made her give up the chase? What happened to little miss I-like-it-rough? "Go back there," Flagg said and gestured toward the clearing. "Make sure they don't get away."

He stared after Rag and tried to judge the route Lynn took - she was bloodied, weak, and panicked, so probably straight. If he swung wide around, he could head her off.

Abby shook her head as if to dispel gathering gloom, and Flagg shot his arm out, palming her shoulder. "Go on!"

She glared at him, then pushed away from the tree with a muttered _bastard_. Turning back around, Flagg scanned the forest again, then ducked left around the tree, his pace hurried but not an outright run. He called up a vision of the map and considered it, his memory photographic - the closest road was the one they came in on, and that was a good mile back. Even if she reached it, there'd be no one to help.

His feet kicked roughly through drifts of leaves, his messy hair snagging on thin, low hanging branches. The muted sunlight filtering through the treetops stung his naked eyes, and his annoyance grew. Tied up. She was fucking tied up. He did the job himself, so he knew it was done right. How did Rag let her slip away? His grip tightened angrily on the gun and his teeth clenched. Stupid fucker, he'd be lucky if he made it out of here alive after this.

Come to think of it, getting rid of him might be a good idea anyway - the heat was cranked to ten and two people can move quicker and blend in better than three. For that matter, _one_ can blend in better than _two_. He was fond of both Abby _and_ Rag, but when you got right down to it, they were holding him back.

He saw himself making them kneel side-by-side then shooting them both in the back of the head - execution style, they called it. His movements were smooth, sure, and mechanical, his face completely devoid of emotion. He'd feel a twinge of regret, but that was all, and it would be gone before he crossed into Wisconsin.

Especially if he had a little blonde princess to keep him company.

The corners of his lips turned up in an evil smile.

Maybe...just maybe.

* * *

Rag jumped over a fallen log, his knees bending, and came down on the other side with a stumble. His heart pounded in his chest and adrenaline shot through his veins like gas through a fuel injector. His lips were pulled back in a mad smile and his beady black eyes sparkled with devilish excitement - if there was one thing he liked more than torture, it was The Hunt, stalking his prey like a jungle cat, tracking it, sensing it, savoriing its fear...then running it down. _Choo choo, motherfucker!_ He tittered as he danced around a tree trunk, stepped one foot onto a rock jutting from the ground, and launched himself forward; for a moment he sailed through the day like a cannibalistic flying squirrel, then he touched down and pitched forward, landing on his knees with a laugh. Sometimes he got worked up...and right now was one of those times.

It was hard to reign himself in, but he had to get serious - he made a huge fuck up and he had to fix it pronto. Part of him wanted to find Lynn, throw her to the ground, and fuck her again, strangling her this time, but a bigger part wanted to take her in his mouth, slink back to Flagg, and drop her at his feet. _Here you go, master, I atone for my sins._ Flagg would scratch his cheek and say _Good job, son,_ and Rag's leg would stomp the fucking _ground_.

He never said this out loud because it would make him sound like a bitch, but he loved Flagg - not in a gay way, but in a sonly kind of way. When he was at his lowest, hating himself and so depressed that he fell asleep every night with the barrel of his gun in his mouth, Flagg came to him like a savior and liberated him from the maw of moral society. Or something. Flagg put it much better - he was the smartest guy ever, and Rag was content to let him do the thinking. He knew one thing for certain though: The last three years had been the best of his life, and if it weren't for Flagg, he'd either be dead or still trapped in that bullshit town, flipping bullshit hamburgers for bullshit people and making bullshit money. He owed Flagg everything.

Taking a deep, resolute breath, he pushed back up to his feet and resumed the chase, faltering when he caught a glimpse of Lynn through the trees. "I see you!" he screamed and tittered. He ran faster, his arms and legs pumping; Lynn darted out from behind a tree, and he speared her like his name was Goldberg. For a moment they were airbourne, their bodies tangled like two smashed sedans, then they hit the ground, Lynn plowing through the dirt like a crashing plane. Her breath burst from her lungs in a grunt and her eyes widened in panic. "Got'cha!" Rag cried happily. He grabbed her wrists, pinned them to the ground, then realized he lost his gun somewhere but oh well, sailor vee.

Lynn thrashed violently and called him mean names, but he didn't give a shit - he got her and that was all that mattered. "You're a naughty little girl," he breathed. "I like it - those are fun to kill."

Her brown eyes darkened, and she spat in his eye. He was caught off guard for one second, and that was all it took for her to roll him off and stagger to her feet.

"Asshole!" he screamed and got to his knees, his arm rocketing out and his hand closing around her ankle on pure instinct. He pulled, and her feet went out from under her, spilling her to the leaves. He was on top of her in an instant, holding a box cutter he had no memory of reaching for. Oh well. Knives, like shit, happen.

Lynn fought like an animal, but Rag was bigger and stronger; he sat on her chest, wrapped his hand around her throat, and slashed the razor across her face, a thin line of blood appearing on her cheek. "Score one for the good guys!" Lynn screamed and threw her arms up to protect herself; Rag flashed the blade down again, the point tearing dirty flesh. "Numero dos!" He was shaking in his excitement, his peepee getting hard and his mind growing fuzzy. The girl's strangled screams were intoxicating, the finest boxed wine on the market, and if he drank too much, he'd get shitfaced.

Her eyes were beginning to bug out of their sockets and her face to turn funny colors. Rag's lips drew back from his teeth and he clutched tighter. "That's right," he panted. He let go of the knife and fumbled at his pants, intent on fucking her as she died.

That distraction was all Lynn needed - she balled her fist and threw it at his nose; hot pain exploded in his skull and he fell over. Lynn got to her feet and took off, her heart slamming and her knees shaking. Her face was crisscrossed with fresh wounds and blood stung her eyes, but she couldn't stop, couldn't slow - she had to get away, get somewhere and think for a minute, just a minute, that's all, she had to think, think, think, a moment, just to think, God, give me time to THINK!

Behind her, Rag got to his knees and let out a howl. "Fucking bitch! I'll rip your fucking head off!"

Lynn summoned all of her remaining energy like stoking coal into a fire; ahead the terrain sloped down toward a rocky creek bed, a thin trickle of water wetting the center. Jagged pieces of earth cut into the soles of her bare feet, and she winced but kept going, the sound of Rag's shoes crunching leaves sending a bolt of panic into her heart. She went faster, heedless to the rocks underfoot, heedless to the uneven ground; he was closer, gaining, faster, nearer, panting like an animal, his breath hot on the back of her neck. Her lungs crushed, and a sharp yell ripped from her throat when he snatched the back of her shirt and slashed the razor across her shoulder blades in a fiery arc. She tried to pull away, but he held on, slashing left and right, laughing maniacally. "Fuck you, and you, and you, and you, and _you,"_ he chanted, each swipe of steel against skin making Lynn cry out.

He laughed madly. Swipe. Tear. Swipe. Tear. Tearing and ripping like an excited child on Christmas morning, giggling and panting. The son of a fucking bitch who violated her - who took what wasn't his and snickered in face.

Sudden, nuclear rage detonated in Lynn's chest, and with a scream, she spun, her fist crashing into the side of his head; his grip on her shirt released and he stumbled back. Lynn threw herself at him, arms swinging, fists bashing his face and shoulder; she watched as if from a great distance - as though she were spectator and her body belonged to someone else. Rag threw his arm up to shield his head, and she caught him in the jaw, driving him to his ass; at the last moment he grabbed the front of her shirt and dragged her with him, her landing on top and raining a flurry of punches down on him like hailstones from an angry goddess. Hot tears filled her eyes and words trembled through numb lips; she heard them, but couldn't be entirely sure she spoke them, couldn't make them out through the sobs.

Rolling, Rag lashed out and backhanded her; pain exploded in her skull and she fell off, landing in a soft pile of leaves. He sprang at her like a cat, but she lifted her foot, caught him in the chin, and knocked him back; blood gushed from his bottom lip and stained his yellow teeth red. His eyes blazed with fury, and the corners of his mouth turned sharply up, lending him a shark-like appearance. "You kick like a _girl,_ " he said lowly and tittered. He leapt at her, and she screamed; his hands closed around her throat and his knees planted in the dirt on either side of her hips. He grinned and squeezed, cutting off her air supply; panic burst in her chest and she threw a desperate punch at his right eye; it connected, but he only redoubled his efforts.

The world was already beginning to tinge gray at the edges, and Lynn's heart thundered. She shot her arms out and pressed his palms flat against his face, her nails clawing, digging into skin, making him scream in a mixture of pleasure and pain. He released one hand and punched her in the forehead; stars painted the backs of her eyelids and she cried out.

Rag fumbled at his belt buckle. "I'm gonna fuck again whether you like it or not," he panted, "and I hope it's not." He worried at it for several seconds before releasing the other hand and pulling it back just a little - just enough for Lynn to throw her head forward and clamp her teeth into the soft web between his thumb and forefinger. Rag screamed, and his balance upset; Lynn watched herself throw him off, mount him, her body shaking and her tears falling; saw the crazed hatred in his eyes, the sneer on his lips; gaped in drawing horror as she buried her face into his soft throat; tasted hot blood as her teeth tore out his jugular; it spurted into her mouth, down her throat, coppery like pennies.

He wailed in agony, his body thrashing and jerking, his back arching off the ground; in slow motion, she pulled back: His face was already pale, his lips parted, horror in his eyes. Blood squirted with every beat of his heart; splattering the front of Lynn's shirt, dripping down. Dazed, she sat astride him, staring at his upturned countenance. Weakly, his hands flew to his ruined throat and pressed as if to keep it all in, but it sprayed through his fingers. His gaze darted to hers, and in it she saw wounded, childlike accusation. _You hurt me._

Inside, she smirked, but on the outside, her lips did not move, did not twitch; she was cold, and her heartbeat had slowed.

Blood covered Rag's hands, rich, red, and thick, more gushing from him every second. Numbly, Lynn wondered how long it had been since she bit him. Surly no more than a minute, maybe less, and he was already starting to fade. That quick? Is that all? That's not very long. Only a minute.

Just sixty seconds.

Gurgling, he reached for her, his hand shaking and ponderous.

She slapped it away.

He tried again, but couldn't.

"Die," she said, savage satisfaction filling her breast.

Rag sneered and lifted his head, but it flopped limply back against the leaves. Slowly, his eyelids fluttered closed, then his head flopped to one side, his blood draining, splashing the ground, soaking into the soil where it cried out for vengeance.

A scream in the distance drew Lynn's attention, and she whipped her head in the direction of the clearing.

Her sisters.

Right.

Her sisters needed her.

With one last glance at Rag, she got up and ran off, leaving him to die alone in the dirt.

Like the bug he was.

* * *

By the time she got back to the clearing, Abby Script was _seething_. Her skull throbbed with every beat of her heart and her stomach rolled sickly; she had to stop and rest twice on the way and puked once into the leaves, the contents of her stomach spewing from her mouth in a hot, stinking rush. Between Flagg, her father, her older sister, and every other man she'd ever been with, she'd taken a thousand hits to the head, but none like _that_ \- girl threw like a fucking cannon. Blood still gushed down her face, and when she glanced at the front of her shirt, it was soaked red. She was gonna kill Rag when she got ahold of him - literally strangle the life out of his scrawny little chicken neck.

After throwing up, she leaned against a tree, pulled a crumpled pack of Kools from her hip pocket, and shook one out; the smoke was harsh in her lungs and made her head hurt even worse. She hoped he made that little skank suffer - middle class skunk bitch. Abby went to school with girls like her - they thought they were the greatest fucking thing in the world _and everyone treated them like they were_. They were the types who grew up and became snooty lawyers and doctors and looked at people like her as though they were trash. Fuck them. Fuck their nice homes, fuck their happy families, fuck their cellphones and laptops and sweet sixteens and vacations, fuck all of them. High-falutin twits - they could talk and throw their little shade, but the moment you cracked one in the face they went to pieces like the spoiled daddy's girls they were. She knew that first hand; she whipped a dozen of their asses in school; they thought they could make fun of her for being poor, they thought she'd take it - they thought they were funny. Get them alone in the girls' room and their humor dried up _real_ quick. And of course they were the types to snitch. _How dare that...peasant hit me._ She learned early on to make those beatings count - if she was going to be suspended, she might as well earn it.

Taking a drag, she blew out a bluish plume of smoke that hung lazily in the air. Her head ached like a motherfucker and every time it pulsed, every time a stray droplet of blood stung her eye, she thought of Lynn...and Lori...and especially that little slut Lola. They were all like the girls she went to school with, though Lola was the worst. You could see it in her face: High, arrogant cheekbones, pert little nose, haughty eyes that looked down, down, always down. Hi, Abby, how is having nothing treating you? How is _being_ nothing? Look at me, I'm pretty, I have nice things, and my daddy lusts for me, but he never touches me the way yours touches you. I _never_ cry myself to sleep and wish I was dead; all of _my_ clothes are nice, and my shoes don't have holes...and my mother didn't die of cancer. LMAO!

Her teeth clenched, and her steps became harder, leaves crunching under her hiking boots. Her heart pounded and her head slammed. Goddamnit! She kicked a drift of leaves, shoulder checked a tree, and stalked into the clearing. Lola lay face down, her dress still hiked up around her dainty little hips, her pale, disgusting princess ass bared to the world. _Come and fuck me, Flagg, you know you wanna~_

Something moved to her right, and she whipped her head around; Lori knelt against a tree trunk, naked from the waist down, the flesh over her butt crusted with dirt and dried blood. Looked like she was trying to get to her feet.

Uh-uh.

Abby reached into the small of her back, pulled out the .38, and walked over. Lori tensed when she heard her coming, and Abby smiled at the girl's fear. She pressed the barrel of the gun to the back of her head and cocked the hammer; Lori's breath caught and her body went stiff with terror.

"Going somewhere?" Abby asked, her voice lifting.

Lori didn't move, probably couldn't - they always locked up when you put a gun to their head. Like they were afraid to die. _I have so much to live for boo-hoo-hoo_.

And every single time, it made Abby sick.

She pushed Lori's head forward with the gun, and Lori bowed it obediently. Miss High and Mighty, who has the power _now?_

Abby did, and it was immensely satisfying. She could do anything she wanted to this bitch, she could make her pay for all the shit those girls did and said, kill her or let her live, bring her down low, humiliate her, degrade her, turn her into a fucking animal. The sense of control, the raw _dominance,_ was heady, and Abby was drunk with it.

She knew exactly what she wanted to do.

"Piss," she commanded,

Lori made no sign that she understood or even heard. Abby grabbed the girl's hair with her free hand and pulled, eliciting a sharp, gratifying yelp from her throat. "Piss yourself," Abby hissed.

Trembling, Lori tried to speak, and Abby dug the barrel into her scalp. "Piss. _Now._ "

Bowing her head and beginning to cry again, Lori tensed...then released her bladder, the sound of liquid splashing leaves found Abby's ears, and the astringent smell wafted into her nostrils. She was doing it...actually doing it. "You're disgusting," Abby growled.

Lori's shoulders hitched as the stream intensified.

Blonde and lofty - peeing on the ground like a fucking dog. She pretended she was high above everyone, but look at her now.

Flashing, Abby snatched Lori's hair, spun her around, then squatted and slammed her face into slick leaves. "You wanna act like a dog, I'll treat you like one." Lori wailed as Abby rubbed her face in it, back and forth, up and down, side to side. "Bad girl," Abby snarled, "you made a mess now you're paying for it." Lori screamed and hitched, and the quality of her voice, the high-pitched terror, like she _didn't_ deserve it, grated Abby's nerves. Letting go of her hair, she rolled the blonde onto her back and straddled her, knees on either side. Lori's eyes were squeezed shut, tears streaming down her dirty face and leaving pale tracks.

"Please stop," she moaned, "please stop hurting me."

She was just like all the rest. She could dish it out but she couldn't take it.

She didn't deserve to live.

Abby poked Lori's lips with the barrel of the gun, then jammed it into her mouth; the girl's eyelids flew open in horror, muddled blue, blurry with tears and clouded with pain. Grinning, Abby pulled the gun back a little, then slid it forward again, her finger stroking the trigger. "How does it taste, bitch?" she asked. Hers and Lori's eyes met, and in Lori's, Abby saw fear and pleading.

The older woman felt nothing - save for contempt. "How does it feel to know you're going to die?" Abby asked. The question was part taunting and part genuine curiosity - she'd never been as close to death as Lori Loud, and she honestly couldn't imagine what it was like.

Lori screwed her eyes closed and sobbed bitterly.

Guess that answered her question.

Abby tightened her finger on the trigger, savoring the moment, her heart beginning to race in anticipation of the kill - of the blast, of Lori's body jerking, of blood, brains, and skull fragments splattering the leaves. Her stomach knotted pleasantly, and her pussy dampened. She wasn't gay, but in that moment she wished she had a dick so she could fuck the whore as her soul left her body, so that she could feel her dying muscles clench spasmodically around her, so that she could send her into the afterlife with one final, fleshy fuck you.

Pressure, skin on steel, tighter, tighter…

Across the clearing, leaves crunched. Abby looked up; Lola was wiggling across the ground like a worm, back arching, knees digging into the dirt, then her chin, then her knees again, her white butt cheeks mocking, taunting - it may have been Abby's imagination, but she thought she caught a glint of Flagg's cum on the little girl's flesh, a flashing neon sign. _LOOK AT ME! FLAGG LIKES ME! HE DOESN'T LIKE YOU!_

Rage flowed through Abby's veins like poison. Yanking the gun out of Lori's mouth, she got to her feet and went over, eyes hard, mouth sneering. "I'm gonna kill her _then_ you," she threw over her shoulder.

"No," Lori moaned. "Please don't hurt her. Kill me. Kill me."

"Fuck you."

"KILL ME INSTEAD, GOD, PLEASE, DON'T HURT HER!" Lori wept. "PLEASE KILL ME INSTEAD!"

Standing over Lola now, looming, hatred clutching her chest and exploding against her skull, the echo of rushing blood blotting out every other sound, even her own ragged breathing. Lola, eyes closed, teeth gritted, drew her knees under her, and with a flourish, Abby put her foot between the little girl's shoulder blades and pushed her flush to the ground.

"You have it all," Abby said, her voice hollow. Her eyes bore into the back of the little girl's blonde head, and she saw not just Lola Loud, but every little skank Flagg had ever fucked, every _princess,_ every _darling,_ and her fury was so hot it was cold. "And I have shit. One thing...one thing...and you keep trying to take him away from me."

Lola had nothing to say to that. She knew she was guilty - knew she tempted him with her pretty hair and soft skin, knew the burden rested entirely on _her_ shoulders and no one else's.

She knew she had to die.

Abby raised the gun and aimed it at her back. She had six rounds - she'd give Lola four then Lori one. Lola deserved it more. Lola -

Something hard and fast crashed into Abby from the side and her feet went out from under her, the gun flying from her hands and landing in the leaves. She fell to her side, and before she could recover, before she even knew what was happening, Lori was straddling her, screaming with primal fury, hands still bound behind her back, eyes pooled with burning intensity. Abby balled her fist, but in her mama bear insanity, Lori was fast; she drew back her head and slammed it against Abby's; exquisite pain exploded in her skull, and for a moment the world went white.

She did it again, and Abby cried out - a cry that turned to a shriek when Lori's teeth closed on her earlobe - a shriek that turned to a throat rending wail when Lori yanked her head back, ripping flesh, mangling cartilage. Abby's legs kicked and her arms flailed, her brain momentarily stunned by the pain.

"RUN!" Lori screamed, and Lola jerked her head up, eyes wide with fear. "RUN!"

Abby balled her fist and slammed Lori in the face, knocking her off; she yelped, then screamed when Abby scrambled on top of her. Blood gushed from her ruined ear and her body trembled in outrage. "YOU FUCKING BITCH!" she screamed and hit Lori again, shattering her nose. She drew back her fist and brought it down onto Lori's mouth; breaking teeth tore through flesh and nicked Abby's knuckles, but she didn't feel it.

Somehow the gun was in her hand, but instead of shooting the bitch, she brought the handle up, then down, up, then down; Lori thrashed and threw her head back and forth, her cries of pain taking on a wet quality as blood filled her mouth. Abby tangled her free hand in her hair to keep her still, then slammed the handle against her nose.

Once.

Twice.

Four times.

Eight.

Ten.

Panting, lost in her rage, her hatred, everything she had ever felt for these fucking bitches, every slight, every outrage, every snotty, mocking word came back to her in a rush, then flowed into the gun.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Lori was still now, and Abby only stopped when the handle sank into the girl's shattered face, snapping bone and wedging in her nasal cavity. Her head was a jagged mess of jutting white shards and blood...so much blood. Abby yanked the gun out and stared down at her work.

There was no doubt about it.

Lori Loud was dead.

"Enjoy hell," Abby hissed, then got to her feet. Now it was Lola's turn. She spun on her heels, expecting to see the little girl cringing and cowering, crying for her dead slut of a big sister.

Instead, she was gone.


	6. Reckoning

**HangingSoul: The funny part is, I wrote this story back in July, it's been sitting in my files ever since. Lynn always ripped Rag's throat out with her teeth, and if I remember correctly, I had that same scene from** _ **The Walking Dead**_ **in mind when I wrote it.**

* * *

Lola tore through a thick tangle of briers, thorns ripping her skin and snagging her hair - tears fell from her dirty face and splashed onto the front of her rumpled dress. She was mindless in her panic, the horror and agony she'd suffered a dull ache as she barreled headlong through a screen of branches; she came out on the other side and fell to her knees with a breathless _umph._ The terrain was rugged here, the ground lumpy and dirt, the trees spaced evenly apart. A hill rose in front of her, and to her left, a valley-like washout sloped down to a marsh - frogs croaked and crickets chirped, their music a funeral dirge that sent shivers racing down her spine.

Shaking like a frightened animal, she got to her feet and started to run again, her head turning; through the dense growth, she caught a flash of white and red. "You little bitch!" Abby's voice drifted forth. Branches snapped and leaves crunched as she fought her way forward. Lola let out a strangled sob and ran faster, her little legs pumping.

On the other side of the hill, the land graded down and to a tightly packed stand of trees. Lola darted into the groove, tripped over a gnarled tree root, and got back to her feet again.

" _...kill you!"_ Abby's voice was muffled with distance. If she kept running, she could get away, she could find help and all of this would be over - Lynn and Lori would be okay and they would go back to being happy and safe and -

Lola fell to her knees, hung her head, and broke down, crying hysterically. In her mind, she saw Abby on top of Lori, hitting her, Lori's feet jerking and her screams piercing, soul-freezing.

She had to go back.

Had to help her.

That thought filled her stomach with cold dread. She didn't want to - she wanted to run forever and ever and never stop, not even when she was a million miles away, but Lori needed her. She couldn't let her die - she loved her so much and she couldn't leave her.

Getting a grip on her emotions, she sniffed, blinked, and looked around. She needed to get the rope off of her hands - she wouldn't be any help if she was still tied up.

But how?

Her eyes fell onto a sharp rock wedged into the ground, its edge rough, serrated, like the blade of a knife.

" _...are you?"_ Abby's voice sounded farther away.

For a moment, Lola was locked in indecision - she looked back then ahead. One way leading to safety, the other into danger. She thought then of her big sister and made up her mind. Walking over to the rock on her knees, she turned, settled against it, and began to rub the rope back and forth…

A mile away as the crow flies, a shadow fell across Rag's pale, blood splattered face, its lines narrow and sharp. Flagg stared down at the boy's gaping throat with a mixture of horror and excitement. He looked tensely around, but the woods were empty, the only sound the wind slipping through the trees and stirring the carpet of leaves blanketing the ground. She must have sneaked up on him somehow - even Rag wasn't pathetic enough to lose one-on-one with a teenage girl.

He thought again of Lola in the clearing...sweet, pretty, blonde Lola with her clear eyes and taunt young body. Likely, Lynn ambushed Rag then ran - if he went after, he could still catch her before she got away. The thing was...he didn't want to. He wanted Lola and that was it. He didn't even want Abby anymore; she was a fuck up just like Rag, and sooner or later she was going to get him caught or killed. He wouldn't lie, he felt something for her...but not enough to keep her around; if he was smart he would have gotten rid of her years ago. Rag too.

Reaching into his suit coat, he pulled out a pack of Marlboros, flipped the lid, and removed one with his teeth. Lighting it, he drew the smoke deep into his lungs then let it out through his nostrils. Flies were already buzzing around Rag's carcass, and arts swamped his ruined throat. Do ants eat human remains, or do they just nest in them? He didn't know, and he didn't like not knowing something - he'd have to look into it.

Right now, he had bigger things to worry about, like getting Lola and getting back to the car. He highly doubted Lynn would find help before he could escape, but it was possible. Like winning the lottery. There was a 000.0001 percent chance - and to some lucky bastard, it happened.

Those odds were too high to ignore. Call him overcautious, but getting sloppy is how you wind up in a cell next to a 300 pound nigger with a hunger for ass. Flagg wasn't worried about prison, he could adapt and wind up running the place, but he could _not_ handle the humiliation of being locked away, the abiding shame of knowing he was caught by fumbling, braindead idiots, an intellectual Gulliver overwhelmed by the diminutive denizens of Lilliputia.

He'd rather die.

Casting one last, emotionless glance at Rag, he turned and started back for the clearing, his grip tightening on the gun. When he got back, he would shoot Lori, shoot Abby, then take Lola and go. To where, he didn't know. South, maybe. Florida or Texas, somewhere warm, where the little girls barely wore clothes and justified it as _being independent_. That made him grin. _I can dress however I want._ Lucky for him, they liked dressing as sluts. Power to the people; live how you wanna live.

He took a drag and blew the smoke into the air. Seeing Rag dead, his throat laid bare, had him in the mood, and as soon as he and Lola were a safe distance from here, he was going to rape her again. Maybe make her suck him this time, and force her to take every last drop of his load. If she spilled any, he'd hit her.

That made him laugh.

Maybe, if she was good and learned, he'd keep her around for a while; the longest he'd ever kept a girl was two weeks before he and Abby met Rag. Her name was Heather and she was ten with pale blonde hair and bronze, sun-kissed skin; Flagg liked her almost as much as he liked Lola. Abby hated her, though, and one day, when he got back to their motel room from picking up dinner at Wendy's, little Heather was mysteriously dead, her neck bruised and her eyes straining from her twisted face. _I think she's allergic to the fabric softener we washed our clothes with,_ Abby said casually.

He'd miss her jealousy, but if he worked long and hard, he could mold Lola into a replacement - gaslight her, give her a mean case of Stockholm Syndrome, even make him have his babies.

Hopefully they were girls.

And they looked like their mama.

Flagg's already stirring dick hardened completely and jerked against the seam of his jeans. Did he have enough time to fuck Lola before leaving? He could wait, he had ironclad self-control, but he didn't want to; he wanted back into her sweet little pussy as soon as possible. He didn't want to get sloppy, though.

Hm.

Best to wait.

Across the forest, Lola sawed the rope back and forth against the rock, her eyes narrowing at the stinging pain in her wrists and her breaths quick, sharp. She hadn't heard Abby in a while, and she was beginning to hope she'd gotten lost or given up. Though if she gave up, she might go back to Lori.

She shuddered at the thought.

Gritting her teeth, she went faster, her hands spreading slowly apart as the stone severed each fiber one-by-one. She had to hurry - she didn't know what she could do, but she would do _something._ Small and afraid though she was, she was determined to save her sister the way she saved her.

Her mind flashed to the days after the accident, to the tug of war in her chest...anger on one side and grief on the other. She was so _mad_ at what happened, mad because she lost her parents, and Luan, and Leni, and Lincoln, and especially Lana. Mad because God let them die, mad at the drunk who slammed into the van, mad at herself for living...and mad at Lori for trying to take mom's place. _You're not my mother,_ Lola spat once when Lori told her to go to bed, and even now she remembered the wounded look in her eyes.

Now, five years later, she started to cry. Lori wasn't Mom, she was Lori, and Lola loved her dearly for that, for stepping up and taking care of her, for loving her, for trying and putting up with her and hugging her and snuggling her even when she didn't deserve it, for everything, and also just because.

She went faster still, her wrists burning and hot agony streaking up her arms into her shoulders. She bowed her head and hissed through her teeth. Faster, faster, faster…

Til finally, the rope snapped.

Before her brain even registered that she was free, she was on her feet and running, all of the pain in her body blotted out in her single-minded resolve.

She had to be quick.

She had to save Lori.

* * *

Lynn stumbled and fell against a tree trunk, her hands splaying across the rough bark and her cheek pressing against a knot. The clearing was ahead, and through a screen of foliage, she could see Lori lying on her back, her head to one side and her legs straight in front of her. She was still, unmoving, and Lynn's stomach twisted at _why_.

She started to go to her, but stopped, drew back behind the tree like a timid field mouse pulling back into its burrow, and looked around. She didn't see anyone else, and she didn't hear anything either, save for the sound of her own uneven breathing. She cocked her head and listened intently, just to be sure her ears weren't betraying her, then took a hesitant step forward, wincing when a leaf shattered under her bare toes like a pane of glass in vacuum silence.

When no one came running, she slithered around the trunk, her back slipping over wood and her fingers dancing across sap, then darted to a bush at the edge of the treeline. Dropping to her knees, she squared her shoulders and balled her fists in expectation of a fight. Still, nothing. As a character in a cartoon might say, it was quiet... _too_ quiet. Maybe they were waiting in ambush - surely they knew she'd come back for her sisters.

Licking her lips, she hazarded leaned out from the bush and darted a quick look around - save for Lori, the clearing was empty, the only movement the swaying of branches in the warm August wind. She held her breath and listened one more time, tuning her ears to detect the slightest noise.

Nothing.

She looked at Lori, her heart slamming and her stomach flooding with dread. For the first time since slipping her bonds and dashing into the forest, she was truly and honestly scared, the adrenaline of the chase and the fight with Rag ebbing away and leaving her cold and shaking. The moment she darted from cover, she would be vulnerable and exposed.

That scared her greatly.

The thought of Lori and Lola dying (oh, God, where was Lola?) scared her even more. Shoving down her fear, she got to her feet and ran into the clearing at a crouch, making herself a smaller target and harder to knock down. She glanced at the spot where Lola had been, but it was empty, and the leaves were disturbed, suggesting a struggle. Lynn's heart sank and her step faltered.

She couldn't think about that right now - once Lori was free they could worry about it, but not until then.

A gust of wind had kicked a drift of leaves over Lori's face, and as Lynn knelt next to her, it was obscured. "We gotta hurry," she whispered and threw a worried glance over her shoulder - the day was alone. She turned back to Lori and touched her shoulder. "Where's -?"

Lynn flicked her eyes to Lori's chest, and when she noticed that it wasn't rising and falling, her soul clutched in an icy grip.

Her hand reached out, as if commanded by someone else, and her shaking fingers tentatively touched her sister's chin, moved her head. Leaves were plastered to thick blood, and when Lynn saw Lori's caved in face, her world came to a jarring stop.

Broken bits of bone jutted from the red mess, and one eye hung down her cheek, tethered to her by a long, pink stalk.

Numbness spread through her like tomb wind, and for a moment, nothing moved - not the wind, not the trees, not even the blood in her own veins.

Then time slammed into second gear when someone grabbed her by the ponytail and yanked her back. She cried out, and her heart blasted when Flagg sneered down at her, his blue eyes like flecks of ice. He wrapped his large, calloused hands around her throat and squeezed, his teeth baring. Lynn's eyes bugged out of their sockets and her fingers went to the backs of his hands, her nails tearing desperately at his skin. With a growl, he pulled her to her knees and tightened his hold, his thumbs pressing into her trecea. Her lungs burst wildly and claws of panic dug into her chest. She raked her nails across his hands, deep, drawing blood, but he didn't seem to care, or even to feel.

"You killed Raganoxer," Flagg said through his teeth, spittle spraying Lynn's face. Fuzzy darkness touched the edges of her vision and her head was starting to spin; her lungs exploded for precious, life giving air but found none. He leaned his face into hers, the tips of their noses smooshing together. "Saved me the trouble. Didja get Abby too?"

Lynn's fingers jittered across his knuckles. She was losing strength and blackness was beginning to spread across her vision. All of the aches and pains numbed, the fear, the grief, and the terror muted. She was sinking fast. A vision of her loved ones appeared before her eyes, all of them smiling, Mom, Dad, Lori, Lincoln, Luna - all waiting for her to join them in eternity.

 _God, let me be with my family,_ she thought.

And God answered - a flash of yellow and pink landed on Flagg's back in a blur, and his grip loosened, then fell away entirely, dropping Lynn to the ground. Her lungs sucked in great mouthfuls of air, and the frantic pounding in her skull began to subside, replaced by confusion. She pushed herself up, and blinked. Flagg danced back and Lola held on tight, her arms around his throat and her teeth clamped to his ear. Flagg let out a high scream and reached behind him, his fingers brushing and tangling in her hair. Growling like a small, vicious animal, she unwound one arm and plunged her thumb deep into his right eye; Lynn watched dispassionately as blood gushed around Lola's hand. Flagg shrieked, the veins in his neck standing out like fat worms, and he battered his fist against the back of Lola's head, making her yelp. Lynn started to get up, but froze when someone screamed at the other side of the clearing.

Abby stood by the treeline with one hand pressed to her mouth in horror. "Flagg!" Lynn's eyes went to the gun in her hand, and her heart clutched. Abby brought it up, and in an instant Lynn calculated the distance between them; there was no way -

 _BLAM!_

Abby aimed straight at the little girl on Flagg's back, and the bullet would have hit her in the side...if Flagg hadn't spun around in panic. The bullet tore out the right side of his face and whizzed so close to Lola she could feel its heat. Abby uttered a high, mournful wail, and the gun fell from her hand, landing in the leaves at her feet with a hollow sound. For a moment Flagg stood where he was, blood gushing from the gaping wound, then he dropped, Lola jumping from his back at the last minute.

Screaming like a banshee on an Irish moor, Abby flew over, her clawed hands pressed to her temples in a gesture bespeaking madness. She fell to her knees beside her fallen lover and rolled him over; Lynn jerked a glance at Lola, then held her arms out; Lola sprang into them, wrapped her own around Lynn's neck, and broke down crying.

"Flagg," Abby said, her voice breaking; tears shimmered in her eyes and her hands spasmed violently. She touched the ruined half of his face, bowed her head, and let out a howl of rage, hatred, and bereavement. He was dead. The only thing she'd ever loved in her whole stinking, miserable life, the man whose children she wanted to have, the man who picked her up at her lowest, took her in, and gave her life meaning.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

All because of that little fucking skank Lola.

She whipped her head in hers and Lynn's direction. "I'm gonna kill -" she cut off.

They were gone.

"Right here."

She turned, and Lynn hit her so hard in the head with a log she lost consciousness.

* * *

Sometime later, Abby Script's eyelids fluttered open - the sun was beginning to set and her head ached monstrously. For a moment, confusion filled her, and she tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea pushed her back down. She tried to move her arms, but they were numb. She blinked, and that's when she realized her hands were tied behind her back.

Fear clutched her heart and she kicked her legs in the leaves.

She was also naked.

Lynn Loud's dirty, blood-caked face, one eye black and her nose lumpy and misshapen, loomed over her from one side, and Lola's from the other - her cheeks were streaked with dirt and mascara, and her lips were crusted with dried red. Both of them were expressionless.

"W-What's going on?" Abby asked.

"It's your turn now," Lola said flatly. She held up a sharpened stick and donned a grin that didn't touch her eyes.

Beginning to quake, Abby looked at Lynn; the girl tapped the blade of a knife against Abby's nose, making her wince. "You're an evil bitch," Lynn said, "and sooner or later, evil bitches get what they have coming to them."

Cold terror flowed through Abby's veins like ice water, and her heart sank. "No, please," she said, but it was too late; she could feel the point of the stick prodding her lower lips, and she screamed when Lola rammed it into her.

That day, Abby Script learned something about herself.

She didn't like being hurt after all.


End file.
